


It's Lost Its Charm

by MsMoon



Series: Charmed, I'm Sure [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dubious Sanity, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Crack, Horse Whispering, Horses, M/M, Martial Arts, Meditation, Modern Character in Thedas, Modern Day OCs in Thedas, Modern Girl in Thedas, Possible Romance, Silly, Sing for your Supper, Slow Burn, bartending, booze, like seriously slowest of the slow burns, magic?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-13
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-01 09:54:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 125,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5201546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsMoon/pseuds/MsMoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Whether it's real or not, Amy McManus finds herself in Thedas and severely limited by aphasia and suspicion. It's hard to warn people about the coming doom when you can't talk properly, and it's even worse when they might think you're the enemy. At the best, she's thought of as odd or addled, and at the worst she knows too much and could be dangerous. Honestly, what's a modern girl to do?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Psychotropic Field of Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> I had this idea. When I talked about it with my friends......they demanded that I write it. So here it is. The beginning.

She was still in the dudgeon. She had _no_ idea how much time had passed.

 

She also knew that she was insane. She had to be.

 

Because, she was in a dungeon, and those didn’t exit anymore. 

 

…Except creepy sex clubs, and maybe some places in Germany. Hostile couldn’t be entirely true, though…right?

 

As psychotropic dreams went…this wasn’t the worst. But the last one she really had wasafter her appendix had burst and she’d been watching Labyrinth in the hospital room…so…yeah.

 

She’d been trying to sleep a lot because she figured that would be the fastest way to break the delusion… unfortunately, every time she opened her eyes, she was still here. Still, sleep was how the body would heal itself, so… she still figured it was the safest bet. Especially after what had happened.

 

Still, she was definitely in a dungeon. She had no recollection how she got here, either. There were varying degrees of pain and then—

 

The sound of footsteps echoed off the wall, but she didn’t look up. Mostly because she was too tired to.

 

“Maker’s breath! You kept her down here like this?” The voice sounded like… she opened her eyes… She was laying on her side and partially against the bars. She hadn’t moved in…a while. 

 

Well. This delusion was starting to look up. The sound matched the man. She stared, first at his boots, but then up and up and up and there was Cullen. He looked a little different from his game model. Currently, he seemed _so_ concerned. He was a mountain of a man though.  _'Ferelden.'_ flittered through her consciousness, and she could only wonder if that were true. Was it that Fereldens were generally large-ish? He didn't look burly the way that they made Bull or Blackwall seem, though. No his physique was big, but well-built and very well insulated with armor and such.

 

“She still hasn’t spoken since we first questioned her, and even that was… disturbing.”

 

Ugh. The apparition of Leliana. When she’d woken up, Leliana had been there, holding the keys to her chains and asking her questions. She tried to answer, but nothing had come out. Nothing intelligible that is. It was all just noises. 

 

Usually a single consonant with an overly emphasized vowel. Like ‘Ksaaaaa’ or ‘Duuuuuuu’ and the very popular ‘Chssssss’ which wasn’t even a vowel sound. Ridiculous. 

 

She’d been humming to herself when she was by herself, because it was too goddamn embarrassing to practice at all when anyone was around. She could say words now, but…well. They weren’t easy to string together. 

 

“What’s this about?” That voice was different, and it made her heart speed up. 

 

This was ridiculous. He wasn’t even real. She should not have reactions to the voices of characters… 

 

The towering figure hunched into a squat as the Iron Bull eyed her critically. 

 

Woof.

 

He was ….impressive. More than impressive. The game did not do him justice. If Cullen was a mountain, the Iron Bull was certainly a titian. 

 

“We found her amid the desolation just outside the temple of sacred ashes.” Leliana was saying. 

 

This was insane. 

 

She’d gone insane. 

 

There was no other explanation. 

 

“Didn’t you say she’s been having a problem speaking.” That was Cullen. It wasn’t exactly a question….but it wasn’t a statement either. He appeared to be reminding Leliana of something she clearly knew. “She could be anyone. There’s no reason to detain her like _this_.”

 

“I know all of the people who were supposed to be at that conclave.” Leliana said fiercely. “I even know the majority of the people who _weren’t_ supposed to be there. The Qunari mercenaries, the Carta, the Dalish. My network was keeping tabs on all of them. She isn’t accounted for.”

 

Or. Maybe she’d gotten hurt or something. Yeah. She was hurt, in a hospital somewhere. In a coma or something (it explained the need to sleep so much and the pain). And she was dreaming…. 

 

As dreams went, she supposed being inside Dragon Age wasn’t too bad… At least she wasn’t the Herald (again). Or the Warden (again). Or Hawke (again). She’d already had to play through all of those multiple times.

 

“That’s no reason to leave her alone in the dungeons with nothing but her small-clothes.” Cullen muttered, looking at the walls because it was the only safe place to let his eyes wonder.

 

…Well. She didn’t _have_ to play the games. She loved the games. She submitted herself quite willingly to the repeated pain and beauty. It was the best way to decompress after her father’s bootcamps.. 

 

She supposed that it explained why she was hallucinating it now.

 

Bull leaned into her line of sight, and she smiled at him. She couldn’t help herself. It felt so good to see him.

 

“Hey there, pretty lady.” Bull said, smiling amiably back at her. “You seem happy to see me.”

 

“ _Taarsidath-an halsaam_.” It was out of her mouth—and with surprising clarity—before she’d even thought about it. And then she was giggling, because what else do you do. Bull’s only remaining eye widened before he guffawed, throwing his head back so severely that he nearly toppled over. 

 

“What?” Cullen sounded so confused.

 

“Was that Qunlat?” Leliana asked.

 

“Oh.” Bull was still laughing. “Oh no.” He stood slowly. “I mean, yes. Technically yes. But…” he shrugged. “The pronunciation is all wrong, and the accent is..” He made a face, his mouth pressed into a disapproving ripping line. “It’s not right.”

 

“What did she say?” Leliana asked.

 

She started giggling again. Bull pointed down at her. “Don’t you start again, little trouble maker.” He grumbled good naturally. “Essentially she said she’s going to masturbate about this later.” He said. 

 

She pointed up at Cullen and Leliana’s faces, laughing. Bull actually nodded, laughing as well. The two were comically on separate spectrums; confusion and embarrassment. 

 

By accident, she set off her balance and rolled on to her back. A tiny cry of pain eeked its way out of her throat, her back arching slightly from the impact and resulting pain….relaxing was something that came slowly, and finally she could breath normally again. She was still chuckling though, by the time she’d settled.

 

“Look, uh…” Bull eyed Leliana, as serious as he could manage after the fits of giggles. “If you want my opinion, I say you need to let her out and about.” He looked around. “If you keep her locked up in here, it’s only gonna make her worse. She’s gone ‘round the bend and she’s on full lock down.” He shrugged. “But… get her a room, and a bath…maybe some food. Let her stretch her legs, and who knows? She’s bound to start talking to people. You just have to be around.” 

 

Leliana considered this, while gazing at her. “So, you’re advocating for mercy.”

 

“Is there a problem with that?” Cullen asked, sounding so utterly offended. Had they already been arguing? “Or have you not met your murder quota for the day?”

 

Leliana smirked. “The day is still young.” She quipped.

 

The girl on the ground grunted out a dopy laugh… mostly because she’d read something like that in notes exchanged between Cullen and Leliana on one of her play-throughs…

 

“Fine. Bring her.” Leliana said right before she sauntered away.

 

“Right….” Bull grumbled, unlocking the barred door to stand over her. 

 

“Ah, Bull… I think we could get one of the sisters to help—”

 

“Oh, no it’s fine.” Bull said. “I have no problem bathing the girl.” He said, wagging his eyebrows as he hauled the girl up and onto a shoulder. 

 

Unfortunately, she had no spine. Someone had clearly taken her spine. Because she couldn’t sit upright… So she just laid back. But then she felt her spine pop a bit, which was confusing because she clearly did not have a spine. Bull jiggled her better into place, so at least her hips were well balanced against the bulk of his bicep. 

 

“Vaaaaaa?” She drawled out. 

 

“Va.” Bull replied, as if he were confirming something she’d asked.

 

“Uh… that’s not.” Cullen was practically stuttering again. It was adorable. He trailed behind the two as Bull climbed the stairs to the main hall of the chantry. He stared down at her momentarily as she swayed back and forth like a rag doll with Bull's natural rhythm. “I don’t think that’s how this is going to work. Mother Giselle alone won’t allow it.” Cullen was saying as they crested the top of the stairs and came into the Chantry proper. 

 

“Bull!” The girl (who was currently bent into a U shape over the Iron Bull’s massive shoulder) said. It caused both men to come up short.

 

“She can speak common.” Cullen said, a nearly needless statement if ever there was one, but it was probably due to the shock.

 

“So it seems.” Bull bent down letting her feet dock on the ground before she straightened out and he stood again. He held her upright, ducking to meet her eyes. “Yes. I’m Bull.”

 

“Ronbuh.” She gritted her teeth, hating the varying pitch of her voice. “Arr… Iron.” She was nearly panting as she stared dazedly ahead, seeing the massive expanse of grey skin and yet unable to understand that it was the Iron Bull’s chest. It suddenly started to lack definition. It was embarrassing. She was so embarrassed to be in such a state. She couldn't even stand upright on her own!

 

“…Yeah.” He was eyeing her like she was a puzzle. She felt his enormous hand eclipsing her shoulder, probably the only thing keeping her from eating floor. She leaned so that her jaw nuzzled against his wrist, relaxing just a touch.

 

“Bull… I’m sure the healers can take better care of her—”

 

“Kuh.” She huffed. “Kul.” She shook her head. “Culnm.” She kept shaking her head. “K.” She suddenly felt very winded. She wasn’t sure if it was because she was tired from trying so hard to communicate, or because now they were both staring at her. “S’k. Culln. Bull….Bull Gud.”

 

“Eeeeasy there now, little lady.” Bull said, with a strange half smile. “You’re tired.”

 

She nodded, half leaning forward against Bull. “Tuh.” She didn’t see him stare almost uncomprehendingly down at her, or how Cullen’s face had gone through various stages of confusion only to come right back to concern. She couldn’t have. Even if her eyes were open, she’d be pressed against Bull’s chest. He was very warm, and his skin wasn’t abrasive at all. Cullen’s face blanked out as he shook his head, looking up at Bull with an almost sheepish concern in his eyes. Like he didn’t even know how to ask the questions in his mind.

 

Bull cleared his throat. “These nice ladies here are going to help you get cleaned up and maybe get some food into you, ok?” 

 

“Hmmm.” She murmured, nodding against Bull’s torso. “Guh...goooood.”

 

“Yeah. Yeah.” Bull was saying. She hadn’t seen anyone speak to the sisters or even wave them over, but if Bull said that was what would happen… well, she’d put money that it would happen the way that he said it would. 

 

Cullen and Bull watched as one of the sisters hoisted an arm up over her neck to help her shuffle away. Another was helping to open doors and make certain she wasn't too much for the first to handle. 

 

“Poor woman.” Cullen murmured, trying not to watch as the woman stumbled along.

 

“Yeah.” Bull crossed his arms over his chest. “How’d she know your name?” he asked, looking down to Cullen suspiciously.

 

“…I…what?”

 

“She knew your name.” Bull reminded. “Knew my name too.”

 

Cullen’s brow peaked, but he shrugged. “We said your name.”

 

“You called me ‘Bull’. She made the distinction of ‘Iron Bull’.” He had no one to examine, so he eyed the door the sisters had led the girl through. “Called you Cullen too, but none of us mentioned it.” 

 

Cullen splayed his palms up, shaking his head. “Someone must have said it around her.” Bull looked skeptical. Cullen had no other mission statements to fulfill here, so he simply marched himself back out onto the training yard. 

 

She’d been in a bad way, laying there on the stone floor. Bull wondered how long it would take her to recover. That speech problem alone was gonna take time. 

 

At least she wasn’t languishing in the dungeon.

 


	2. Haven or Hell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, hello again :) Big thank you to everyone who commented and left kudos. You guys keep me going :3 The mind boggles...I guess I just assumed the only attention this would get would be from my friends.
> 
> So, it turns out, trying to write a bit every day is a lot harder on holidays when projects and papers are due in every class o..o' That's my excuse for lagging (this time), and I'm sticking with it.
> 
> This chapter is more dense, there's a lot more of it... I figure as we go though the story, that's expected. You need to know more, so I can't afford to be vague.
> 
> But enough prattle! Please do enjoy...

Haven's fucking cold. 

 

And miserable.

 

Everyone knew it.

 

You knew it in Origins, you remembered it in Dragon Age 2 (hey, Kirkwall’s a shithole, but at least it’s not fucking Haven), and it was a swift upper-cut to your jaw in Inquisition.

 

In the seven days she’d spent getting her feet firmly back under her, she’d come to two possible conclusions. 

 

One: She was dead, her twisted brain had hallucinated being in Haven, and this was actually the ninth circle of hell. Evidence: It was colder than Lucifer’s armpit.

 

Two: She was crazy. It’s the only way for all of this to be happening and her not be dead.

 

Three: ….this shit was real. Evidence… it felt real. Like, not a polished daydream or fantasy, but gritty, and horrible, and real. And that… well that was terrifying. This game was her jam, and now it wasn’t a game anymore. And speaking of game, she was off hers.

 

Speaking of the things she knew, she knew her name. It was Amy. Amy McManus…and she was the wibbily-wobbliest insane inter-planer hell-mate ever. 

 

“Balls.” She grunted to herself. It was some strange twist of irony that profanity was something that was easier to pronounce. 

 

She barely made it out to the training yard before needing to rest and breathe… Haven was a little different from in-game Haven. The layout was mostly the same, but everything seemed…. Much larger. 

 

She really had no way of telling how far along they were in the timeline, and people didn’t just linger outside. If you wanted to find Solas or Varric (or the Groundscrapers), they were probably indoors.So even if Dorian or Cole _were_ here, they weren’t where she could see them.

 

The dull roar of the men almost gave her a bit of hope. Cullen had so much more to work with than she’d assumed. Rows and rows of soldiers in different divisions practicing different techniques. 

 

He even had some out on the ice practicing, which she assumed was reserved for more veteran fighters. You could spot the ones that had just moved into that sphere of training. The older soldiers could keep their feet, but the new guys were a little more wobbly. 

 

It was exactly what she needed. To get back into a routine again. She was going to get soft and flabby if she kept snoozing in the spare rooms of the chantry. As it was, she could barely do her regular work-out routine with a simple set of 30, and God (or the Maker as it were) only knew when she last went on a run.

 

…What did it say about her that she missed her routine more than her family? Here she was in Haven or Hell, and she was more upset over loosing the chance to fully master Aikido than over never seeing her brothers or her parents again. 

 

“Are you well, stranger?” this question came form an elven girl. Amy looked at her momentarily registering her features. Pretty brown hair held back in a thick braid, soft brown eyes, almond shaped, and vallaslin… whose vallaslin was that?

 

“Nahh.” Amy’s jaw flexed, her teeth bearing. She knew it wasn’t pretty, but sometimes it helped to work the kinks out, so to speak. “Naht well.” She said at last. “Speak. Bad.” She shook her head.

 

“Oh.” The woman surveyed her again. “You poor thing. Is it an injury of some sort, or are you cursed?” she inquired in such a concerned yet clinical fashion that Amy couldn’t even be very angry at her.

 

“In….Injuh.”

 

“Injury?”

 

Amy nodded. She pointed to the elf’s forehead. “Sigh.” She felt a strange tremor down her spine. “Sigh. Lay…lacccce.” 

 

The woman blinked before realizing what Amy was trying to convey. “Oh! Yes!” she absently traced a finger across her brow. “This is the mark of Sylaise.” She eyed Amy with confusion. “Most humans don’t know that.”

 

“Know.” Amy said, looking down at her shoes.

 

The woman stared at her before smiling again. “I’m Elossa.” She said, gaining Amy’s eye contact again. “Elossa Ghilain.”

 

Amy blinked, recognizing that name but not remembering where from. “Ay me.” Elossa cocked her head to the side, her wide eyes uncertain. Amy tapped her chest. “Ay.. Amy”

 

“Ayme? Your name? Oh. It’s…different.” Amy only shrugged. “Uh, I’m just… lingering away from the Mage’s tent.” She said gesturing over her shoulder. 

 

There was a large tent, like the one the game had for Leliana, with about thirty or so mages huddled under it. They were all just gathered in the sunniest spot, because evidently the tend did block some of the wind. Amy blinked at that dumbly. Why in the world were the mages congregated here? 

 

“My brother, Atrahel, he’s right there.” She said pointing towards the field. Amy followed the direction to find a dual dagger elf that looked so like Elossa, it was uncanny. Well. He looked like her, except for his vallaslin. “As long as I keep to this side of the road, I won’t bother anyone. And it comforts me to see him.” 

 

Amy blinked. She hadn't asked, but Elossa seemed a little anxious. Perhaps it was her way to over-explain in order to comfort herself against her anxiety with things she already knew.. Amy eyed the elf that Elossa had singled out as her brother.

 

“Eheh…Ehhheel gar…nayhn.” She said, as she noted the severe mark of Elgar’nan on his face.

 

“That right!” Elossa said with a nod. “You know vallaslin well.” Amy shrugged, looking down again. “So…” Elossa began, obviously trying to keep conversation going. “If you could pick a vallaslin for yourself, which would _you_ pick?”

 

Amy blinked. This had been crucial to at least 3 of her characters. She’d had a Dalish Warden and two elf Inquisitors. She knew the major players but…as much as she wanted to proclaim kinship with a fighter, the closest that they had to that was Elgar’nan or maybe Andruil…if hunting and fighting were at all similar. But… those didn’t really fit her.

 

“Dirhh..” She ground her teeth together, trying to focus on saying the word without having to take short cuts or slur. “Dirth. Ah. Men.” 

 

“Dirthamen?” Elossa looked momentarily confused, but then Amy put both hands over her mouth and she giggled. “Oh. I see.” She smiled. 

 

“Excuse me, Miss?” A soldier interrupted, putting a hand on Elossa’s elbow. “You need to get back in the tent.”

 

“It’s a little crowded in there, soldier.” Elossa explained, trying to draw away without actually yanking her arm from his grasp. “And I can see my brother better from here, better.” She motioned towards where the rogues were sparing. 

 

His grip tightened. “That’s not up to me. You need to get back where you belong.” Was his response. 

 

Amy. Was. Pissed. 

 

She didn’t have anything against touch, but this guy was touching someone he had no business touching. It was obviously making Elossa nervous, and it was setting Amy on edge. So she did exactly what she would’ve done if she’d been back home, and Elossa were Jamie.

 

She strode forward, rocking him back just by stepping into his person. Then she stretched out her leg, nudging the instep of his foot with her own and lengthening his stance so that he would be off balance. She leaned forward grabbing his breeches just above his knees and at the same time, she pulled up on his clothes so that his feet were dislodged and shoved her shoulder into his belly. He toppled over with a grunt, hitting the ground hard. Still, it was covered in snow, and it’s what he got for wearing that ridiculous breast plate. 

 

Amy glared down at him. “Piss. Off.” She thundered in that ‘oh no you don’t, sir’ voice that made all the men in her father’s dojo wince. If spoken to properly from a woman, it directly translated to ‘You have behaved inappropriately, and I will take you to task if it means taking it out of your person’.He actually flinched back and scrambled away, crab crawling backward till he could get enough traction to stand and flee.

 

She twisted to look back at Elossa. The elf hid a smirk behind a hand, her eyes wide as and shining as she looked at the soldier in the snow.

 

“Kay?” Amy asked, and was relieved to see the elven woman nod. But then her expression lost its joy and looked a little frightened. 

 

Amy screeched as she found her waist caught up in an inescapable grip, her arms and legs hanging down as her waist was pinned to someone’s side.

 

“Whoa, there little spit-fire.” She relaxed the instant she heard Bull’s voice. “Gonna have to keep an eye on you.”

 

“Ha. Eye.” She huffed. She eyed the broad stomach next to her, patting it as if to see if it were real. It was. At least as real as she could tell. “Buuuull.” She whined. “Doooown.” 

 

“Not sure that’s a safe bet yet. Especially if you’re gonna be grappling with soldiers.”

 

She whimpered. “Bull.” She tried again. “Hurt.” 

 

He sighed, setting her on her feet grumbling ‘alright, alright’. She put a hand against his side to steady herself. Maybe it was the blood flow… yeah. The blood was rushing to her head when he had her, and now it was all migrating to the right places. She shook her head. 

 

“Thanks…Bull.” She said, still hissing out the s in the thanks a little too much for her own approval. She just hoped she didn’t sound like she was panting.

 

He had a hand against her lower back. “You’re still not well.” It wasn’t so much a question. The Ben-hassarath had a damn good eye after all. She nodded. “So why are you picking fights with soldiers?”

 

“Not. Pick.” Amy grunted. “Take.” She did not pick fights. She simply practiced, went to the occasional sparing match, and took the fight to anyone that thought they could take from her or anyone she cared about.

 

“Are you alright?” This came from Elossa, who was hovering just out of the Iron Bull’s reach, nervously wringing her hands.

 

Amy nodded. “Bull good.” She was surprised to see Bull quirk a brow at that statement. She huddled against his side. “Bull waaaarm!” She felt Bull chuckle, felt one of those massive hands caress the back of her head. 

 

“I am.” He gloated. She didn’t see him eyeing Elossa. “You could tuck in here if you wanted to, little lady.” Elossa hovered for a moment longer, staring back at Bull like he was a demon straight from the fade. She looked to Amy who smiled. She gave a nervous little smile and pranced up to Bull’s other side. He chuckled, deep and rolling, and Amy felt the need to nuzzle against his side.

 

“I suppose that’s one way to get rid of a pestering soldier.” Elossa said.

 

“Mh-hm.” 

 

“Where’d you learn that, anyway?” Elossa’s question made her feel the cold that much more.

 

“Fahh.” She grit her teeth. “Faahhh tha. Fahther. Father.” 

 

“Your father?” Amy nodded miserably, still humiliated at the ridiculous sounds she was making. She was shocked when she felt Elossa reach across and take her wrist. The elf placed her Amy’s fingers against her lips. “Father.” She said. “Father.” She repeated, and nodded.

 

“Father.” Amy said, blinking when it didn’t slur out half so much. 

 

“That’s hot.” Bull half grunted, and both women half jumped away from him. “Whoops. Blew it.” He smirked. 

 

Amy swatted at him and leaned back in. “What..?” Amy pointed to Elossa’s hands and then to her lips. 

 

“Oh, it’s something we do to teach the littles how to speak properly…or, well, we did.” She said, slowly drifting back against Bull as well. Bull looked entirely too smug, but honestly… Amy couldn’t be bothered to care. As far as she was concerned, he deserved some smug. “If you’re so ill, why are you out here?”

 

“Good question.” Bull seconded. 

 

Amy shrugged. “Tah.. Traah…” She wallowed hard. “Traaayen.” 

 

“Train?…Training?” Elossa said, before repeating the process of pressing Amy’s fingers to her mouth and saying the worlds again. 

 

“Training.” Amy said. 

 

“Training?” Bull repeated. “For what?”

 

“Stuh…Strahg.”

 

“Strong?” Elossa, always helpful.

 

“Stronger.” Amy clarified.

 

“But why?”

 

Amy looked up at Bull. “Father.” She said. How best to get him to understand…what was it that they’d called Hawke?“An…an…” She tried to think about the word…what was it? “Basalit-an.”He stared at her, almost solemn.

 

“One of these days, little spitfire, you’re going to have to tell me how you know so much.” He said, and she felt his gargantuan hand trail up her back, her neck, his fingers skimming her scalp as they formed into her hair. As power plays went, it was pretty docile. In fact, it felt kinda nice. 

 

“Yeaaaaaaa.” She murmured, closing her eyes and leaning back against his grip. She didn’t see the tiny smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth. “One…day.”

 

“Compliance.” Bull murmured, with a chuckle. “That’s a refreshing find.” 

 

“Really, Chief?” The terse comment was not enough to pull Amy away from Bull, even if he had let her go. Though, Elossa was carefully keeping her hands to herself.

 

“What?” Bull asked, looking up but not quite letting go of Amy.

 

“Just had to deal with Lieutenant lion-heart. One of his soldiers scurrying ass over….he kept saying something about a girl and you, and…” Bull finally let go of Amy’s skull and she blinked at the brightness, letting her eyes readjust before staring at the newest addition to their discussion. “What’s going on?” Krem finished at last.

 

Amy drifted away from Bull and slowly circled Krem, eyeing him as if he were completely alien to her. The man watched her for a bit, then his eyes darted back to Bull with a ‘is this safe’ look before she circled him fully. 

 

He nodded at her, looking utterly out of depth with whatever he should do or say. “Miss.” He said with a nod.

 

Amy looked back at Bull and Elossa. She gestured to Krem and asked, “The fade?”

 

Bull blinked, but Elossa nodded. “He _is_ very attractive.” She said, which reset the tone entirely. Krem stood up straighter, his chest slightly more forward. Presenting, preening, nodding as though he couldn’t agree more.

 

“Yeah, yeah. Yuk it up.” Bull groused. “You’re not as warm as I am.”

 

“I cannot confirm or deny this….” Elossa said. “But it is awfully warm here… It’s like the cold just stops here.”

 

Amy giggled. “Bull. Wark.” She felt her shoulders shaking uncontrollably. “Ha! Bulwark.” 

 

Bull was squinting at her, skeptical and appraising. “You feeling alright?”

 

“White.” Amy said, staring around. “Ehhh.” She swallowed. “Why ever…white.” Why was everything so white?

 

“Maker’s breath.” That was a different voice. “Why is she out here?” 

 

“Good. Gold.” Amy said, turning towards the approaching wall of armor and Ferelden. “Cullen. Gold. Good.”

 

Cullen drew closer, concern etched onto every feature. “She looks about ready to keel over.”

 

“Wasn’t a few minutes ago.” Bull murmured. “Took out your guy over there with calculating efficiency, I might add.” 

 

Cullen’s gaze snapped to Bull before coming back to Amy. “I heard something about that.” He muttered before letting out a ragged breath. “She needs to get off the training field and back to the chantry. She looks like she may fall over at any moment. I will not be responsible for any harm she should come to here. A training yard is enough of a madhouse without an actual lunatic here.”

 

Amy stared at the ground. It was _so_ white. Everything was so white… it made things seem so sharp and edgy against the blur of snow. 

 

She wondered if Cullen was right. If she was crazy. She didn’t feel crazy. But crazy people didn’t think they were crazy, did they? But she was wondering about it, considering it, weighting the options… Did that mean that she was or wasn’t crazy? She was a little confused, not just on the crazy issue, but in general. 

 

She felt a touch to her elbow, but didn’t pay it any mind. There was a particular pattern in the snow that she couldn’t quite make out. It was too far away, and the white-white-white snow was too blurry. 

 

She took in a deep breath, her eyes widening as she looked up into Krem’s face. She looked to Cullen and then to Bull and Elossa who were still huddled together. 

 

“Cat?” She asked, wondering if that’s what was imprinted in the snow.

 

…Well, that was just fantastic. Now they were really going to think she was crazy…. Maybe she was. Maybe it was maybelline. She chuckled at her own inner joke.

 

“Exactly my point.” Cullen looked to Bull. 

 

“Relax, _Commander_.” Bull said, sounding both calming and somewhat derisive at the same time. “We’ll make sure she gets back to the chantry.” 

 

Without any sense of time, Amy found herself being shepherded (Ha! Mass Effect Pun! Oh, no one would get those jokes now) back through Haven. She kept half wondering what happened to Elossa and whether she’d said goodbye or not. 

 

“Don’t coddle her, she’s probably fine.” Bull was saying. 

 

“What the fuck happened to her?” She heard Krem asking. “It was like she shut down and then switched back on again right in front of us.” 

 

“Dunno. She’s the one they found next to all that red lyrium crap. Solas ‘ _theorizes_ ’ that it’s the reason she’s so weak and warped, but… he still isn’t sure about much else.”

 

…Red lyrium? Holy Christ on a Bike. Was that what was wrong with her? She felt so sick to her stomach just thinking about Bartrand, and Dragon Age 2, and oh my god, poor Varric. Oh, Buddah weeps at my misfortune.

 

“Hey now, easy there.” Krem was saying, taking her arm in his. Such a gentlemen. 

 

“Smooth. Krem.” She said feeling like the tie to him was all that kept her from reeling out. It didn’t make any sense. She’d felt mostly fine when she’d worked as a bouncer for Elossa. But now everything was starting to strain again. “Krem of….the crop.” 

 

“Ho!”

 

“Oh for the love of…” Krem muttered. “Don’t give him ideas.” He grunted.

 

“That’s a good one!” 

 

“Krem. Bull’s best man.” Amy said, half resting against Krem’s arm. 

 

“Not if he’s stealing my red-head, he’s not.” Bull grumbled, albeit good-naturedly. 

 

Amy tried to glare at Bull. “Not. Yours. Not. Belong.” She grumbled. “Not eeeee. Ezzzz. Not Eaahzey.” She ground her teeth together. “So. Bad.” 

 

“Ok, ok. I get it. You’re not easy.” Did Bull have her other arm? What was going on? What happened to her legs? Were they there?

 

“Legs?” she said.

 

“They appear to be tripping over themselves.” Krem responded.

 

“Cats!” she spat. 

 

“There aren’t any cats here.” Bull informed, bending down to pick her up. “And I get to carry you so Krem can be a gentlemen and open doors.” Amy didn’t bother fighting because she couldn’t. Not that she’d actually want to fight Bull…even the thought of a simple sparing match scared the hell out of her. And not just because he’d kick her ass. “Easy there, little spit fire.”

 

“Amy.” Amy said, curling into Bull’s chest and carefully notching her head beneath his chin.

 

“Amy? That your name?” 

 

“My name.” She said.

 

“Well, you just sleep some, Amy. We’ll take care of you.”

 

It had been the most eventful morning she could remember since waking up here… So, Amy did sleep, utterly heedless of the reproachful stares of the chantry sisters.

 

 


	3. Shaken, Stirred, but mostly Addled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amy struggles to establish a routine in hopes it will acclimate her to Thedas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aw'right, I'mma be straight with you guys.... the first draft of this chapter was finished around the beginning of last week. Unfortunately, it was finals week. I asked a couple friends of mine to beta read it, which is completely heinous of me because it was the week of their finals too. As if anyone can think about anything during finals week. Geh. I'm a monster :|
> 
> But now that all the scheduling conflicts, health issues, and demands of the Qun have been met, I hope you enjoy this chapter.... may the Maker have mercy on my soul =..=

 

Amy forced herself to get up and go out to the training yard again. She trudged along with no excuse for her sedate pace. She was slowly acclimating to the cold… Or maybe it was because Mother Giselle had insisted on her wearing a thicker cloak if she insisted on traipsing about outside. Either way, she couldn’t blame the cold any longer. 

 

Arriving at the Mage’s tent was… disheartening. She supposed she couldn’t blame Elossa, especially after all the drama yesterday. The young elf had been brusque. Not necessarily rude, but there had been no effort to continue conversation or even engage. She’d hovered in an abandoned corner of the tent, not making eye contact with Amy or anyone else for that matter. 

 

Amy noted that most of the mages drew away upon her arrival. Not leaving the tent, but hovering in tighter cliques and avoiding eye contact. With a simple gaze about the tent, Amy caught at least three different men staring pointedly at Elossa. They looked away upon being caught. 

 

She’d made a point of conveying that she was glad Elossa was ok, and then swiftly darted out of the tent. She only hoped she’d managed to keep a lid on the sting she’d felt. Still, she didn’t want to get caught up in another scene here. Bull and Cullen and Krem and even that soldier guy probably had better things to do than babysit her. She was the daughter of Patrick and Bridget McManus. She didn’t need to rely on anyone’s strength, save her own. She _refused_ to be anyone’s burden. Gripping tightly at her indignation, she used it as fuel to keep walking. 

 

She was glad to note that the smith and tiny horse pen were not on the outside of the wall. She’d always thought that as fortifications went, having your smith and stables on the outside was not strategically sound. It took a bit of walking, but she found it. It was on the far right near that final trebuchet before facing down Corypheus. Though they were together they weren’t adjoined. 

 

The Stable was small. More of a room with tack and feed flanked and boxed by multiple stalls with a barely there roof. The smith was much more of a fixture, and Amy found herself drawn to it first just for the warmth alone. Harrit was there, overseeing a lot of younger smiths and workers (or perhaps young workers and smiths), but he seemed to keenly focus when Amy had drifted closer to the bellows. 

 

“Who’re you then?” He asked. 

 

“Amy.” She replied.

 

He squinted. “What d’you want?”

 

“Warm.”

 

An abrupt almost hiccup of a laugh. “Well you came to the right spot.” He said. “Only place you work up a sweat and don’t get cold.” He eyed her up and down. “You someone special?”

 

“Everyone…is.” She’d said, earning another abrupt laugh.

 

“No one told me that.” He grunted, still chuckling. “Well. Mind the scrap metal there on the ground.” He said, before turning back to whatever it was he was working on (it looked like a staff blade, but Amy was no expert on that).

 

She looked down, and found small bits of metal all over the ground. A few little shavings here and there, but also bits of what looked like pole arms that had just been trimmed off. Just the ends evidently, as they were maybe three inches long at the most. Amy bent down and picked up these bits of scrap. Harritt spared her a side glance now and then, but mostly just shrugged with a deep, confused frown. 

 

“Keep?” she asked. 

 

He stared at her, utterly bewildered by the request. “I mean… yeah. It’s just garbage. Why d’you want to keep it?”

 

She fussed over the items she’d managed to glean. “Make something.” She said, making his eyebrow arch.

 

“You a smith, then?”

 

“No. Not metal make.” She said, rolling the bits in her hand, enjoying their weight. “Make.. Make…” She licked her lips, clenching her jaw. “Weights. Small weights.”

 

His eyebrows arched. “Weights?”

 

She nodded. “Wrah… Wris. Wris an Ankles.” 

 

His head rocked back. It made it seem as if he were eyeing the beams that supported the roof. “A weight you can tie around our wrists and ankles?” She nodded. “Why?”

 

“Rah. Res. Res. Is. Tents.” She ground her back teeth together. “Resistance. Builds. Strength.”

 

His head slowly drifted to the side, as though he were imagining it. “Can you show me a design?” 

 

And now it was Amy’s turn to cock her head to the side. She looked at the four long metal bits she had in her hand. She extended her left arm and tried to lay two of them side by side against the flat of her forearm. 

 

“Holes. Tops and bottoms.” She said, pointing to the rods. “Ties together.” Harritt was nodding slowly.

 

He shrugged. “String the bars together, huh? ….I may be able to come up with something.”

 

Amy blinked rapidly. “Oh. Not…. No trouble.” 

 

A snorted. “Please. This wouldn’t take two shakes.” He said. “B’sides,” a deep sigh filtered out of him. “it’s a way to clean up the mess a bit.” 

 

Amy smiled. “Prince.” She said. She could be mistaken, what with the rocking mustache and everything, but she was pretty sure that Harritt was blushing…just a bit.

 

She’d felt privileged enough for such an obviously bizarre request to be answered without any fuss. She didn’t wanted to dawdle or distract longer. 

 

She walked through the stables, surprised. Not all of the stalls held an occupant… there were less than a dozen horses and no stable hands about.Then again, hands didn’t _need_ to remain in the stables. The hands wouldn’t be there unless it was time for them to tend to the horses. 

 

Amy had gotten into the habit of keeping her eyes straight ahead and slightly down, especially around horses. Flight animals didn’t like to be eyeballed. 

 

It made her a touch homesick for her own horse. Another weak spot that made her feel like a monster. What did she weep for at night? Mother, Father, Brothers, Best Friend? Nope. 

 

Her horse. She was sad because she knew everyone in her old life would be able to go on without her… but Erasmus. She felt her throat clench, trying to ignore thoughts of that goober. A dopy white-socked palomino that her parents would probably sell before she was legally declared missing. 

 

And that was getting ahead of herself. After all…she could be mad. Or dead. Mad would be preferable, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.

 

A flurry of trotting caught her ears, one of the mounts circling anxiously in its wide stall. Upon seeing her, it spooked, jerking heavily towards the back of its enclosure. She’d reacted instantly, dropping down into a crouch and eyeing the dirt. She wasn’t entirely sure how to communicate with people, but she was fairly certain that horses had a pan-universal language. 

 

A stillness settled in the stable as she smacked her lips, licking her lips loudly and ‘chewing’ to display flatter teeth. It was something she’d learned when she’d first shown an interest in learning to ride. 

 

Her mother was nothing if not thorough. She’d instilled all or nothing mentality that dominated Amy’s entire education…hell, her entire life. If Amy was serious about learning horsemanship, then her mother would disciple her with every bit of knowledge on horses before signing her up to volunteer at a stable for a while before agreeing to riding lessons. 

 

A breathy snort puffed out of the horse’s nose, and it sauntered over hanging it’s head low to investigate her. She waited till she could both hear and feel the horse’s breath, the sound of gusty curiosity as it took in her scent. It was probably wondering what she was looking at and whether or not it was edible. 

 

She rose slowly and turned to face the horse, getting her first good look at it. It was a beautiful paint, mostly white with sloppy dark brown spots. He had a lovely brown face with a tiny white snip at the edge of his left nostril. She held both arms forward, palms up. The horse peeked it’s head over the fencing, it’s nose nuzzling her belly as it smelled her. She let her hand skim down, from cheek to chin. 

 

“Pretty.” She cooed. 

 

She shifted more to the side so that it could see her better. She let her arm extend down the side of it’s mane till she gripped at its withers. She could visibly see the animal’s ears relax just a touch, tipping lazily. It was something they’d learned from Becky at St.Martin’s Stables. 

 

Evidently, mares would nibble at their foal’s withers—the area just between the mane and shoulders. For whatever reason, it comforted the babies and made them relax, and that held over even in most adult horses. She was glad that this one wasn’t as agitated as it had been.

 

“Huh.” She looked over and saw a young man, eyeing her. “He seems to like you.” Was all he said. She tucked herself closer to the gate, stroking as much of the horse’s face as she could manage. “That one’s been antsy for days.” He continued, ducking into the room where the feed was kept. Maybe it was feeding time.

 

“Hm.” Was all Amy said. She gave her new horse friend a few final pats before ambling out of the stables. She didn’t want to be underfoot if it was feeding time, and… She’d been hoping to see Dennett, but obviously the Inquisition hadn’t contacted him yet. Or, maybe he’d just issued orders to his underlings and had better things to do with his time.

 

Chronology was a weird thing to figure out even in-game, and Amy was trying to recount all the people she had seen thus far. Bull was here, but not Blackwall. Not yet, at least. It was safe to assume that Solas and Varric were around somewhere…. That left, Sera and Vivienne. 

 

She went to the building she assumed was the tavern, entering slowly. 

 

Sera was there! She was lounging in a chair she’d pulled directly in front of the fire place. No one else was there. Not even Flissa. Sera snapped up, staring at her… Her expression was set in an almost resentful expression.

 

“You’re not Flissa.” She grumbled, slouching down again. “Close the door.” She yowled. 

 

Amy stepped inside, closing he door and relaxing as warmth seeped into her bones. It was nice. It smelled nice in here and the warmth was well contained. 

 

“Don’t suppose you’re here to make drinks.” She mumbled at no one in particular. 

 

This is how it had happened. 

 

Amy had blinked, recalled her college days of bar tending and waitressing, and effortlessly wafted behind the counter. She did a simple inventory (glasses and such were on the shelves beneath the bar, and the ingredients were on the shelves that jutted out from the wall behind the bar. A curious reversal really). She gave precursory sniffs and sips on a few bottles and other containers, then assembled a few ingredients before gathering a few glasses and mixing implements. 

 

Sera had perked up with a “wassat?”, before slowly rising and tip toeing over to the bar. 

 

Amy set aside what appeared to be potent berry juice with something else that tasted an awful lot like vodka. She then used a large tumbler to mix two parts berry juice with one part alcohol, and then a few teaspoons of some honey she’d found. Then she sealed it and shook it. It didn’t have a mesh strainer lid, so she had to filter the liquid into the glass by holding the lid slightly ajar. She measured out two small glasses worth and pushed one glass to Sera. 

 

“Za vas.” Amy toasted, clicking her glass to Sera’s before knocking back the concoction. 

 

Oh yes. It was sweet and rich but had just the barest hint of bite on the way down. She shimmied in place once the liquid settled in her belly. Sera had been watching with a uncomprehending expression on her face before sipping her portion. Her eyebrows skyrocketed, and she knocked her shot back.

 

“Khaa! S’a sweet hit! Tastes like… like…”

 

“The Bee’s knees.” Amy grinned.

 

Sera brayed out a laugh, snorting on herself. 

 

Amy poured out two more shots and their glasses clinked together before they drank again.

 

Of course, Flissa walked in mid-swallow on the second shot. “What in blazes are you two doin?” the woman asked, not particularly angry…more shocked and amused, really. 

 

“She did it.” Sera said, pointing to Amy.

 

“Thunder Cats!” swore.

 

“What in the Maker’s name is a Thunder Cat?” Flissa asked, scurrying behind the bar and inspecting Amy’s shaker. 

 

Amy blinked, not knowing how she could possibly explain her father’s favorite 80’s cartoon to the common folk of Thedas…. 

 

“Alien. Cat person. Thundeeerrrah.” Amy said, aggravated by her broken speech. At least she wasn’t drawling or stuttering….maybe it was the alcohol. As it was, her ‘Thundera’ sounded a lot like Mum-ra… and that she could not abide. She poured out two more drinks, and gently poked one in Flissa’s direction.

 

The woman eyed her and then the glass. She smelled it, her eyebrows up in surprise. Then she sipped it, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Mixed the juice with the hooch, huh?” She asked. Amy nodded. “Is that…honey, I taste?” Amy nodded, a little more vigorous this time. “Huh… Most folks don’t tend to like mixing things up like this.”

 

“It’s _good_ though, right?” Sera defended, enjoying her shot with a nearly leering grin.

 

“I suppose.” Flissa eyed Amy carefully. “You want a job?” Amy blinked, dumbfounded. “The pay isn’t what it should be, but there’s _some_ coin in it, and we could see if our boys might enjoy mixing drinks.”

 

Amy considered it for all of two seconds before nodding. “Yes.” She said with a bright smile.

 

Flissa chuckled. “Who are you anyway?” 

 

“Amy.” 

 

“Oi.” This came from Sera. “Aren’t you the addled girl?”

 

Amy nodded, her whole body moving. “Ahh…aahhhd….Addled. Nice word.” Addled was nice. It wasn’t ‘mad’ or ‘insane’ which sounded so much more difficult to recover from.

 

“What’s this now?” Flissa asked, and Amy felt like she could visibly see this opportunity slipping out of her hands. 

 

“She’s the loony they found at the temple near that red lyrium garbage.” Sera informed.

 

“Oh, you poor dear.” Flissa said, laying a worried hand on Amy’s shoulder. It felt…comforting. “Well, it isn’t as if I’d work you late. We’ve only got a handful of regulars. The down-side of everyone thinkin’ this is some sort of holy crusade. They don’t feel quite right indulging in carnal pleasures. Most of our boys are out of here after a few drinks anyway. They can’t afford more, and most of them have places to be in the mornin’.” 

 

Amy blinked, somehow touched. “Still want?” her voice sounded high-pitched and rusted

 

“Of course!” Flissa crowed. “I offered, didn’t I?” Her hands jammed into tight firsts against her hips. “You just head back here just before the sun’s on the horizon, and I’ll acquaint you with the hooch.” Flissa leaned into Amy’s space, gently tapping her shoulder again. “That is if you can…”

 

“Yes. I can yes.” Amy said with a goofy grin. 

 

And with a belly full of entirely too much booze, she took a nap in the chantry wondering exactly how she’d managed to land a job while still being relatively weak and a person of interest in Leliana’s little red book.

 

 


	4. Dragon Age The Musical

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly, I'mma go ahead and thank RunMild for beta reading this chapter :) You are my Champion of Kirkwall. 
> 
> ....and....Uh. I guess that's... all. Yeah. I'm blanked out from running over hill and dale for holiday family stuff and being sick. So...enjoy?

Flissa hadn’t been lying about the sparse evening crowd. Amy had seen a bigger crowd during finals week. Sera was here along with three others. None of them were drinking together so much as sitting in decent proximity to each other. But four people. That was it.

 

It’d taken her less time than she thought to familiarize herself with the merchandise and pricing. Three bits for a single serving, two silvers for a bottle (depending on the bottle), and anywhere from ten silvers to a royal for one of her specialty drinks.

 

Personally, Amy was just glad that she didn’t feel like she was going to fall asleep or fall over. She’d gotten a nice long nap and woke feeling mostly rested.

 

Okay, some of the muscles in her legs were still feeling a little sore—more like overstretched elastic, really—but she could mostly ignore it and push herself to do what needed to be done. In fact, she imagined that if her routine included a warm up, stretching, a bit of working out, and then a meal and nap before working in the evening, she could probably handle anything Thedas threw at her.

  

That was, until Bull walked in with Krem, the Chargers, and of all people, Varric and Solas.

  

Sera looked pretty happy until she caught sight of Solas. Amy knew that feel. Her very first play-through had been spoiler-free and she’d gone in as an elf mage… and she’d romanced Solas.

  

Oh, the tears she’d shed on that egg.

 

“What the fuck…” Bull’s eye landed on her, and it seemed no amount of Ben-Hassrath training would stop that response from coming out. “What?” he squawked, pointing to her. “What? …What!”

 

She grinned broadly. “Maraas-Lok!” Bull visibly winced, shaking his head. Amy laughed blatantly at his discomfort.

  

Solas had found a quiet corner in which to sit. Varric took up with the Chargers, which Amy would’ve thought to be uncomfortable at one table, but it was only eight of them—and Grim seemed to really enjoy siting on floors for some reason—and Sera didn’t like to sit so much as she liked to perch on the table and then skip about.

 

“‘Ere ya go.” Flissa said, handing Amy a tray heavy from many, many full pints. “The tray goes to them, and this is for the apostate in the corner.” She made the distinction of pointing at the single glass on the edge. Amy nodded, and quickly dispersed the pints circling around the table with surprising efficiency and dexterity considering her earlier stumbling.

 

She felt something. She wasn’t sure what it was exactly. It was like… like when you had to ice a sore muscle. At first the rub-on wouldn’t feel like anything other than a cool goop on your skin, but then it’d dry and soak in. It was a strange seeping sort of cold that wasn’t at all unpleasant. It seeped into her calves and thighs, and for the first time in a long time she felt rejuvenated.

  

Amy turned and her eyes met a curious, nearly-smiling blue pair. Solas was staring at her, but upon her notice he cocked his head to the side. An obvious question danced there with the same almost child-like enchantment. ‘Are you aware? Do you realize what I did?’ they seemed to say.

 

Aware? Yes. Did she have any clue what just happened? Some magic something or another, but other than that, no.

 

Amy had to very nearly shake herself out of the gridlock stare. She lifted the glass off the tray and extended it to Solas, who seemed to be more interested in staring at her still. It was unnerving.

 

She ticked her nose up, eyes forward as she turned to retreat behind the bar. 

 

“Hey!” the gruff voice startled her, and she yelped when Bull’s arm fastened around her before she could nick by. “You think you can just be out and about without saying ‘hi’ to me?” he asked. With the exception of Krem, the table’s occupants looked surprised at this outburst.

 

“Hi.” Amy said with little feeling. She normally didn’t mind Bull’s habit of being so handsy, but she was at work.

 

“You aren’t being very friendly, you know.” He fussed.

 

She heaved a breath heavily through her nose and stared at the small wooden tray she’d used to carry all their drinks.

 

 “Could bash your face….” She stared at Bull. “May break the tray.”

 

 She caught sight of one of the surlier patrons, an old man that may’ve had a few too many about an hour ago, and used the tray to point at him before yelling, “Your hand touches metal, I kick your ass!” He balked, slowly leaning back into a relaxed position before shuffling out of the tavern entirely. “Honestly.”

 

 When Amy turned to look back at the current table, she found Krem smirking at her, and Bull seemed to be biting his lip as he stared wide-eyed at Varric. She could only just hear Varric’s wheezy laughter.  

 

 “That might be the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.” Skinner snarked.

 

Amy glared at her. “Show you cute.” she growled, trying to lean out of Bull’s half hip lock.

 

“Well, I guess you’re feeling better,” Varric said, raising a pint in her direction.

 

“Yeah,” Bull drawled, eyeing her suspiciously. “You _must_ be, otherwise you _wouldn’t_ be working here.”

 

“M’fine,” Amy griped. “Better. Best! Sunshine. Rainbows. Butterflies.” She tried to tug away from Bull again. “Want my hips back!” she snapped, giving his forearm a warning smack with the back of the tray.

 

“’Ey.” he grunted. “I just wanna introduce you to my boys.” he placated. “You know Krem of the Crop.”

 

Krem groaned, his head tipping down slightly.

 

While Bull was busy gloating over the new (painful) nickname, Amy decided to step in. “Skinner Shem-killer, Stitches Yuck-Poultice, Rocky Not-Gaatlok, Dalish Not-Mage, and Grim High Chief Grunts-a-lot.” She patted the top of Bull’s head, which was still a feat even if he was seated. “Your craaaazy bunnnch of assholes.”

  

Bull was blinking rapidly, as if he needed to reset his eye to process all this. And while everyone else was slack-jawed, Grim’s eyebrows rose and he grunted—which seemed like the best reply ever if you were a Chargers fan-girl, and Amy was. This meant she was preening. She’d not laid eyes on Dorian or Vivienne, so someone among the Inquisition should take up the mantle in their absence.

 

“Uh, yeah. That’s them.” Bull said, clearing his throat slightly before taking a sip of his ale.

  

“That’s… really unnerving.” Stitches said. “Who told you about us?”

 

 “Know what I know.” Amy said.

 

“Yeah… she does that.” Bull said, still eyeing her.

 

“She didn’t do it to me.” Krem pointed out.

 

“Aw. You feelin’ left out?” Skinner cooed teasingly.

 

“Cremisius. Aclassi.” Her S’s still sounded way too hissy. “Tailor’s son. Soporati.” Too many S’s!

 

Now it was Krem’s turn to stare. He also looked a little flushed. “…You’re right. That is unnerving.”

 

“Don’t try turnin’ that evil eye on me.” Sera grunted, arms crossed.

  

Amy was looking decidedly wilted at this point.

 

“You can turn your eye on me, if you’d like,” said a man at the table next to them. Something about him set her skin on edge, like standing too close to an electric fence. Even with a table between herself and him, she still felt slightly agitated. She couldn’t imagine why. He wasn’t unappealing or vulgar. Well, not overly. He had nearly anime-jagged brown hair and fan fiction, Dean Winchester green eyes. In fact, he looked a lot like a sloppy Dean Winchester.

  

“How’s about a kiss?”

 

He did not look _enough_ like Dean Winchester for that sort of behavior.

 

She smiled brightly and held up a hand in a ‘stop’ motion before snickering. “'Ow ‘bout ya'fuck yourself?” She said it so casually, it took a moment for everyone else to catch up, but when they did, the response was quite the uproar.

 

Varric nearly fell out of his chair, and Bull bent forward to hide his laughter. It wasn’t a very effective strategy, and Amy wasn’t sure it was necessary, as all the Chargers were laughing too. Though none of them had to worry about their horns hitting the table, she supposed. Even Solas had clasped both hands in front of his mouth, but he still couldn’t hide his smirk.

 

Bringing that joy was a bit of a comfort, even if it barely canceled out the near-revulsion that had previously taken residence at the table. Maybe they all just needed to laugh; maybe that was why it was easier to move on. One thing she knew: she needed a drink.

 

“Aw’right, aw’right, you tossers. I know when I’m not wanted.” the man said, rising and leaving a bit of coin with Flissa before leaving.

 

“What about Varric?” Bull asked, bringing everyone back to their own little group.

 

“Know lots. Tons.” Amy made her eyes wide in exaggeration. Then she brought the edge of the wooden tray down hard against Bull’s wrist.

 

Amy knew two things with absolute certainty. One: she’d surprised him. And two: he knew she was done with being pinned down. _That_ was why he let her go. It had nothing to do with her actually working her way out of his grip.

  

“Not your pet. No tricks or training.” She said half hopping away and regretting it when her legs felt like over-stretched elastic. “Tethras Paragon of Manliness. Beard on chest. Perfect gentleman in public.”  she said, her nose raised a tick.

 

Sera scoffed. “What about Solas, then?”

 

Amy glared. “Not say. Not want say. Too angry.” Anger was making her chest tight, making her heart hurt. It was ridiculous, but… well.

 

It was…weird. It wasn’t just the whole ‘first in-game romance’ thing. Honestly. First in-game romance wasn’t true love or anything, but it _was_ an attachment. As ridiculous as it was to get attached to characters in a game, it didn’t stop her from feeling as though she had met and loved all these people in turn. She was in the unique position of knowing these people, their choices, their vices, their mistakes, and everything that made them beautiful.

 

“Pride before fall.” she spat, bearing her teeth just slightly.

 

“Ouch.” Varric said. “Such hostility towards the elven apostate.”

 

“Indeed.” Solas murmured, still staring at her as though she were a puzzle.

 

“Really.” Bull began on a half laugh before asking, What’d he ever do to you?”

 

“He ate my heart.” Amy blinked when the sentence flowed out of her mouth. It wasn’t just close to decent speech, it was flawless speech.

 

“Huh.” Bull blinked, looking between Solas and Amy. “That was fluid… do it again?”

 

“He ate my heart. He a-a-ate my heart.” Amy’s eyes got wide as she remembered the lyrics. Was it that simple? Speaking took time and effort to order the words and the sounds, but songs… songs were rhythm and motion.

 

There was only one way to be certain.

 

“Look at him,” she sang out. “Look at me.” Continuing and getting everyone’s attention as she pointed between Solas and herself. “That boy is bad, and honestly! He’s a wolf in disguise, but I can’t stop staring in those evil eyes!” When they buried her, she hoped that on some part of her headstone it would say, "Here lies Addled Amy. She brought Lady Gaga to Thedas".   

 

“Damn, girl!” Sera said, trumpeted with all the grace of a goose. “You can sing!”

  

 Bull was still eyeing Solas—who had gone eerily still—and Amy—who was nearly giddy to be able to communicate without having to worry about sounding like a moron. Now she sounded like a different sort of moron, she supposed. A Dragon Age Musical sort of moron.

 

Hey. It worked for Harry Potter and DC Comics, right?

 

“Oh. Mah. God.” She half caterwauled. “I’ve been beaten in the game of love!” she twirled behind Bull, rounding on his good side. “I’ve had two years in heaven and five weeks in hell.” She fanned herself. “Where do I-I go now?”

 

“Now we’ll just have to worry about is shutting her up.” Rocky chuckled. Amy cuffed him on the back of the head, though not hard. Still hard enough that he pretended to be mortally wounded.

 

“Dwarf drama queen.” she grunted.

 

“Well, now you fucked up, Rocky.” Skinner snickered at him. “She’s not singing anymore.”

 

Amy rounded the table growled, “Parshaara.”

 

It didn’t sound bad! Not perfect, but nowhere near as stunted or mispronounced as before. Though she noticed some of the Chargers tensing up—namely Krem, Grim, and Stitches. Was there some guy-code violation about to be committed?

 

“That was ‘enough’ right? In Qu—gauhf!” Rocky took another hit to the back of the head, this time from Stitches. Amy supposed the company healer could inflict damage as long as he helped to heal it up.

 

She also assumed that speaking Qunlat was something Bull didn’t like, since it made his Chargers twitchy… She wondered if they were nervous about the Qunlat, or if it really bothered Bull to hear it and they just reacted to that.

 

Wait…where was Solas? When had he left even?

 

Varric snorted, holding his pint up to be refilled. It was enough to snag Amy’s attention, and she went about refilling his drink. “That’s good, you being able to sing and all. You sound good, too. You ever sing professionally, or…?”

 

Amy shrugged. “Choir. Long long ago, though.”

 

Varric snorted out a laugh, looking… almost bitterly nostalgic. Amy wondered if he was thinking about Sebastian. He had this look about him, somewhere between amused and rueful. That probably fit for his attitude towards the infamous ‘choir boy’.

 

“So you’re… good?” He seemed very… awkward. It wasn’t like the Varric she knew.

 

“Relative.”

 

He nodded with a humorless chuckle. “So, what were you doing at the temple anyway?” She blinked at him. “I mean, that’s… where we found you. Near the red stuff.”

 

The last part was grunted with such distaste, it made Amy wonder if that was why he was so turned about. Not because she was odd and he didn’t know what to do with her, but because red lyrium was always going to be a sore subject.

 

Or it could be both. Both was good. Insert El Dorado gif here.

 

“Drunk.” She said abruptly.

 

“What?”

 

Her voice sounded sedate and dreamy, staring into the space above Varric’s head as she continued. “Thought th’reefs ‘round the wounded coast were made of candy.” Her words were choppy again, stuttering out with great effort. But she couldn’t sing them, now could she? Isabela was many things, but her words were not a sing-along. It was a little disconcerting that she could quote the words of others more clearly than she could speak her own mind... but that was a worry best kept to herself.

 

He stared at her—hard—and rocked back in his chair. 

 

“Demon told me. Bet me sixty sovereigns n’a bottle of port.”

 

“That’s more unnerving than the Qunlat, Charmer.” Varric reported, before sipping his ale.

 

Now it was Amy’s turn to stare, her head cocked to the side in curiosity. Finally, it caught up with her. She gasped at great length. “My name!?” she squealed, pointing to herself. If she had any energy left, she would’ve pranced about in glee.

 

“Well, yeah.” Varric barked a laugh. “You’ve clearly charmed everyone who’s met you. Living right in the middle of the budding Inquisition even though you know all these things and are clearly mad as a loon.” He stopped himself, realizing he’d said that out loud in front of her. “I mean—”

 

“Prefff… Pref. Fer! Addled.”

 

“Ah. Yes. Addled. And your name is Amy, I hear.”

 

“Addled. Amy.” She smirked. “Do love. Iah. … Al… Liter ayshion.”

 

“Alliteration?” Varric snorted. “Addled Amy loves Alliteration?”

 

“Uh. Doors.”

 

Varric laughed out loud. “Addled Amy Adores Alliteration!” he said, nodding with such vigor that it swayed his whole body. “Brilliant.”

 

“Charmerz. Bet-er.” She got a strange urge to start mimicking Charmander... but no one would get the joke if she started cooing and hissing 'chaaar. chaaaaar!', would they?

 

He smiled. “I do try.”

  

Amy was so happy. It was just… she knew that she was wrung out from being on her feet longer than she had been since she got here. And she also knew she was on a bit of a high from not only getting _some_ measure of independence, but also a way to speak. But the cherry on this sundae straight from Thedas was that Varric Tethras had given her a nickname, and it was actually pretty flattering.

  

She snuggled up to Varric’s side and wrapped her arms around him. It was a little awkward with the height difference, but it didn’t bother her. Not one bit.

 

“Hey, now… watch it over there.”

 

Amy wasn’t sure when The Iron Bull had started policing her interactions with other people, but it needed to stop. She glared at him, not backing away.

 

“I would like it to go on record that I was not copping a feel on our dear Charmer. In fact, I was merely receiving affection as she wished to express it,” Varric said in an attempt to sound magnanimous. “The fact that the view is nice is just a pleasant side effect.”

 

Amy partially pulled back and found him starring impishly at her chest. She stared down at her otherwise unremarkable physique.

 

“Like mos. Keeto. Bites?” she asked.

 

“Augh!” Rocky had not taken a hit to the back of the head, so Amy couldn’t tell you why he sounded like the wind had been knocked out of him.

 

“Ouch.” Dalish whimpered dramatically, hunching her shoulders.

 

“Yeah... I’m…” Stitches was staring almost bleakly down at the table. “I’m not a woman, and somehow that hurt my feelings.”

  

“Ya'don’t have feelings.” Amy gruffed back, drawing away from Varric.

 

“You’re bein’ a little harsh on yaself there, Charmer.” Sera said, also blatantly staring at her chest. It was weird. Amy didn’t have any body image issues, she just knew what was.

 

She snorted inelegantly. “Wash board abs, good.” she said, snapping her fist against her belly. It wasn’t quite as muscled as it had been before all this had begun and her routine and nutrition had been so woefully interrupted, but it was still taunt and muscled. “Wahash board chest? Not.” she said shaking her head.

 

“You may be too close to the issue.” Krem said with a smirk. “Now, I wouldn’t mind helping you out with forming a second opinion.” He wagged his eyebrows.

 

“Oh, yeah. Me too!” Skinner said with a grin.

 

“If anyone’s inspecting or requisitioning, it’s going to be me.” Bull growled.

 

Amy threw her head back and laughed. After a moment she cupped her chest and shook her head. “Better chance find Andraste’s ashes.” she said between chuckles.

 

“Harsh!”

 

“All right.” Bull said. “One more round of drinks and we’ll let you close up, Flissa.” This time Flissa gave her a couple of bottles to make the rounds. “Pour yourself one while you’re at it.” Bull demanded. “You could probably use one to help you key down.”

 

She had no idea how he knew that she wanted a drink, but she wasn’t about to question it. He never really questioned how she knew what she knew… well, not yet. It would be an interesting conversation to be had.

 

After seeing to their portions, Amy left the remainder of the last bottle out for herself. She came up behind Bull, docking her chin on the top of his head and her arms lacing over his shoulders.

 

“Hug-a-bull.” was all she said, and she didn’t need to see his face to know he was beaming smugness.

 

“Glad you like my assholes.” he said, and Amy couldn’t stop the giggle from working its way out. “Hey now, what’s so funny?”

 

She got it under control just to somewhat paraphrase a comic she’d seen of the Iron Bull ages ago. “You’re bein’ asshole.” She said pointing at the wooden table. “Know what we do to assholes?” She paused as they all waited. “We. Lick’em.”

 

Grim spit out his drink violently, and Amy made peace with having to clean up the floor. Most of the table’s occupants were wailing with laughter or they were crying “ _N_ o!” very loudly _while_ wailing with laughter. Bull bellowed with it, and Sera practically rolled around the floor, squealing.

 

It was too corny to say that they laughed so hard that they were in stitches, because Stitches was in the Chargers and all. But the night ended on their laughter… and that was a win.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok. So. The songs in this are Lady Gaga's "Monster" (https://youtu.be/iqjRX8kJeX8), and the song "Oh My" on Gin Wigmore's Holy Smoke album :3 (https://youtu.be/luhnj7ZPWL4). 
> 
> *sniffle hack wheeze* see you guys next year =..=
> 
> EDIT: Thanks to Shadowminion, I went on a quest to find the comic of the last joke there! You guys can see it here: http://msmoon.tumblr.com/post/133120372182   
> ...still funny as hell :3


	5. Rosenhan and Red Lyrium

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The elf could sashay like no one else. Such sass. Much saunter. Wow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh. Hey gaiz :3 Sorry if this chapter's a little rough :| There's been a few hospital emergencies, but I really wanted a new years chapter for you guys :3 So, I hope you enjoy.
> 
> So... I uh...I have a tumblr. Like, I have a regular one for reblogging all of the things, but I just made a new one that's specifically for writing stuff...I'm not asking for followers or anything, but if you're in a mood, you can go [here](http://strivingscribe.tumblr.com/) and check it out :3

 

If life was supposed to up and turn around once Amy figured out how to communicate, it certainly was dragging ass. People were still trying to either ignore her or chaperone her. Well, except for maybe Bull and Varric, who talked to her like a normal person.

 

Being left to her own devices meant Amy had plenty of time to think and establish a routine for herself. Which was something she desperately needed. Her problem stemmed for a number of factors; who she was as a person, what she’d learned, religion, and circumstance.

 

She stopped napping. She’d never been one for naps before. Every morning she would visit the stables, forge, and training yard, and instead of napping she would find an out of the way corner and meditate. The chantry was pretty good for that… Amy wondered at times if she should feel blasphemous, but how can you blaspheme when you never supported religion in the first place?

 

If anyone had asked her about religion before this, she would’ve said that she was a humanist who enjoyed some Buddhist practices. The way that Jamie was somewhat catholic because her family had been catholic, Amy was a little Buddhist because her father had been.

 

Really, she was agnostic, because she couldn’t validate _or_ disprove any religion. So. She used what worked for her. It was another reason she didn’t look down on Jamie for ‘playing catholic’, or anyone for taking whatever they could from their own religions. As far as Amy was concerned, religion was a series of guidelines to help provide a moral compass. When you took it to extremes, people got hurt. 

 

Humanism was her sort of thing, because, ‘hey, guys, let’s not be assholes to each other’ wasn’t an official name for a religion. Diligence and Meditation were heavy focuses in her life. Diligence, because her mother didn’t believe in doing anything unless you could perfect your technique. This mentality had applied to every area of her life, including her education. Meditation was something Papa enforced, and Amy found that it worked...so she didn't see any reason  _not_ to use it.

 

Today, meditating was not easy….and it was all David Rosenhan’s fault. 

 

When meditation and moral wisdom came up short, it was time to turn to logical thought processes. Amy was not the most learned person in the world, but she'd gotten a decent enough education to work through things on her own. She had obtained a bachelors of science focusing on kinesiology with a minor in athletic coaching and nutrition. That was all fancy talk for, 'she knows how the human body works and how to not hurt it while strengthening it'. That was the summation of her college experience. These degrees helped her to coach legitimately at her dad’s dojo without him being accused of nepotism. She found that she really enjoyed the experience. It really irritated her best friend Jamie…but that was for a myriad of reasons that she wasn’t going to think about right now.

 

Anyway. Amy had never put much stock in psychology or any of the “soft sciences”. They were interesting, but they weren’t crucial to her education. The degrees that she had wanted didn’t required more than a few introductory psych classes. She’d taken them and passed them, because Bridget McManus’s daughter did not fail at things.

 

One thing had caught her attention, to the point of being fascinated.

 

The Rosenhan Experiment.

 

This psychologist named David Rosenhan conducted this experiment where he and his colleagues (she couldn’t remember exactly, but she thought it was seven people in total) briefly feigned ‘auditory hallucinations’. They were all went to different hospitals in five different states and theyw ere all diagnosed schizophrenic.

 

After admittance, they acted normally. They told the staff that they were fine…..and they were mostly ignored. The hospital staff forced them to admit to mental illness. In fact, they couldn’t leave the facilities without agreeing to take antipsychotic drugs and agreeing to their illnesses. “Schizophrenia in remission” was how they were labeled once they did leave, all but one of them that is….

 

That was the first part of the experiment. The second part was dealing with one of the hospitals afterwards. Which, also made Amy laugh. Imagine that. Officials are found out to be wrong and they get offended.

 

In the end, Rosenhan concluded that actually distinguishing sane from insane was nearly impossible. Moreover, once someone received the label of mentally ill, they were dehumanized. Simply put, it was damn near impossible to remove the negative stigma of mental illness, whether it was true or not.

 

….Amy had a dilemma…a double bind if you will….

 

Near as she could figure, she had been labeled ‘crazy’ by most people. She’d offhandedly showed that she did know things, but evidently people attributed her knowledge and her insanity to being too close to red lyrium. Whenever someone would point out ‘hey this chick knows stuff’ other people would be like, ‘yeah, lyrium’s weird shit’. So. People chalked everything up to that. Sure, the red stuff had given her insight but they also assumed it caused her speech impediment and made her crazy.

 

And it was damn near impossible to get people to think of her in any way except ‘crazy’. For the most part they pitied her, but some of them resented the hell out of her existence. These people didn’t know who she was or where she came from, and they hated that she seemed to actually know things without being able to be relied upon her. So… she did not try singing to people to get them to understand…because it would further validate the ‘crazy’ stigma.

 

In fact, nothing changed for days. And it was so fucking frustrating.

 

The Chargers plus Varric and Sera were more of a presence at Flissa’s tavern… Solas, not so much. Or maybe the Chargers and Varric had always ended their evenings at the tavern, and she was only just now aware of it.

 

Amy had tried to come to terms with her feelings for Solas, which were jumbled as fuck. For the most part, Solas remained blithely aloof. It wasn’t that she hadn’t seen him around, but he was always observing her from a distance.

 

…And that had led to another line of thought.

 

If Amy thought about it from the point of view of someone like Solas or Leliana, then her label of crazy was the only thing keeping her safe.

 

She knew a lot. And if she wasn’t crazy, then people would start asking questions….and what she knew was dangerous.

 

So.

 

If she was insane, then she was safe. But…if people didn’t listen to her… they _weren’t_ safe.

 

She sighed heavily, looking up from her meditation. Today, there was no peace in the chantry… She slowly rose and ambled back out to the training yard. There was very little to do other than observe their form and technique.

 

Amy leaned back against the large outcropping of rock between where Lysette was supposed to be (spoilers: she wasn’t there, she was training) and the path to master Taigen’s cabin. It was far enough away from the Mages’ tent and the training troops that she didn’t have to worry about being in the way at least.

 

“Well well, look who’s here.” Amy didn’t bother to look, she knew Bull’s voice well enough that she didn’t need to. “Why you glaring at that guy’s feet?”

 

“They’re bad.”

 

“Ouch.” That came from Krem. “A fella can hardly help how his feet look.”

 

“No. Not feet. Where feet _are_. Stance. It’s bad. Weak.” There was silence, which made Amy look over at them. They were staring at her as if she’d sprouted a second head. “Wot?”

 

“You a fighter then?” Krem asked with an absolutely _infernal_ smirk on his face.

 

“Hmph.” Amy grunted, turning away from him with her eyes closed and her nose high.

 

“Ohh. Now you’ve done it.” Bull grunted. Amy glared at the both of them, because she could tell that Bull didn’t believe her either. Yet another area in which she was utterly invalid and powerless. It was starting to piss her off.

 

She folded her arms across her chest, pointedly looking _away_ from them both.

 

“Alright, fine.” Bull sighed. “Let’s fight.” Amy blinked, looking over at him. “C’mon. You know you wanna.”

 

Her eyes narrowed. “Seriously?” He arched an eyebrow at her. “You’ll take it serious?”

 

His eyebrows peaked. “You _want_ me to take it seriously?” the way that he said it ushered in an unspoken ‘have you _seen_ me?’.

 

“No reason to fight.” She said. “Not unless it’s serious.”

 

Bull looked to Krem who was giving him this ‘well, chief, you’ve gone and gotten yourself in this situation, how’re you gonna get out of it?’ look. Bull looked back to Amy and shrugged. “You’ll go easy on me, right?” he asked, stepping forward.

 

“No.” Amy’s tone deepened so that it almost sounded like when she said “duh”.

 

Bull seemed really confused by the entire conversation. “Uh…how’re we doin’ this? Like… are we fighting with practice swords, or?”

 

“Ourselves.” Amy grunted. She took in a deep breath, closing her eyes and finding her center. She opened her eyes and took her stance, her side facing him. “Like this.”

 

“So hand to hand, then?”

 

“Or hand to horn.” She said smirking. Amy only hoped she could keep her energy up… she’d have to be decisive, otherwise it’d be easy for him to overwhelm her. “Whatever it takes.”

 

Bull blinked, using a single finger to scratch his jaw. “Right. Well then…” He seemed resigned to do this, but she doubted that he was taking it seriously. He was probably assuming that he would let her win. Bastard. “So, uh… whenever you’re ready.”

 

She glared at him. “You _aren’t_ serious.” She grumbled.

 

“Look…it’s not… I mean…”

 

Quietly, and with terrifying certainty, Amy said, “I’ll teach you.”

 

Bull blinked and Amy rocked back on her back foot and then launched forward. It was easy enough to feint to his blind side and jab at his ribs. Bull grunted and turned to face her, but by then she’d already rounded his back and was spun to his other side. She settled herself, lifted one knee and rounded by the time he was turning to face her fully.

 

“Ho!” the cry was loud and strong and would’ve made Larry Kenney proud.

 

It was perfect. A beautiful alignment that resulted in something Thedas would probably never see again.

 

She roundhouse kicked him in the face.

 

Straight in the face.

 

She felt her heel connect with this mouth with a satisfaction that she definitely needed to keep in check.

 

It staggered him in place, making him bow forward slightly from the impact. She would never have his muscle or raw power, but damn if she wasn't quick, decisive, and nimble.

 

He looked at her, incredulous, and she crescent kicked up. He was the perfect height that she didn’t need to jump up in order to reach. She got him square in the jaw again (the opposite side from last time though), which rocked him to his knees.

 

She was gearing up to kick him again, when his hands went up. “I yield!” he called out clearly.

 

She froze and lowered her leg, grounding her stance before bowing forward slightly in respect. A small trickle of blood dripped down the edge of his jaw, making Amy wince in sympathy.

 

“Damn…” This came from Krem, several paces behind Bull with a half dozen other onlookers milling about behind him. Most of them seemed to scatter the second Amy looked their way.

 

One thing was certain, she could not fight Bull again. Not like this, anyway. Maybe now he would take her seriously, but the downside to that was that she wouldn’t be able to get the jump on him again. She knew she was getting stronger. The fact that the fight hadn’t made her want to drop dead was enough proof of that. But still… It’d be too risky to fight him again, now that he knew she _could_ fight.

 

“You kicked my ass.” Bull grunted, though not with any resentment. Amy looked at him and smiled. Regardless of the repercussions, it felt good to feel strong again. Her muscles were tired, but they remembered how to move. It was very reassuring.

 

Amy snorted. “Kicked your face.” She said. “‘Sides, you didn’t even try. Didn’t want to.”

 

“Yeah. Maybe I don’t want to fight you at all.” He rubbed his jaw. “Don’t suppose I can get a kiss to make this better.” He joked.

 

He froze in shock as Amy stepped closer and kissed the edge of his mouth. She licked the blood off her lips and blinked rapidly then traced her finger along his jaw to mop up the rest of the blood, licking it off her finger. She made a show of smacking her lips and contemplating the taste of his blood.

 

“You drink?” she asked worriedly and he stared at her utterly gobsmacked. “Too much salt.”

 

“Are you seriously asking me if I’m keeping myself properly hydrated, you ridiculous woman?” he asked laughing quietly as he shook his head.

 

“Important!” she cried. “Need water. And pro…prot.. Pro Teen!” His whole torso shook with quiet laughter. “Have to keep strong for army.”

 

“All right.” He bent forward and his arm fasted in a deadlock around her knees, and then he stood up. She yelped as she rose with him.

 

“Bull! Down!”

 

“Nope. I’m carrying you wherever you need to go. I lost, so I’ll be your beast of burden.” He said with a grin and she smacked his shoulder.

 

“Do not want!”

 

She wasn’t tired… well. She wasn’t sleepy. Her muscles felt a little weak, like when she forgot to eat for too long. But otherwise she felt pretty good, and she didn’t want to rely too much on being catered to….and being carried around was just ridiculous.

 

“Alright little scrapper, it’s time you and I had a talk.” Bull said clearly but quietly enough that Krem and the other men couldn’t hear him. Amy blinked at him stupidly. “You have the form and strategy of a fighter, but you lack the instincts of a warrior. There’s a subtle difference. You see it in certain Chevaliers. The ones who only participate in tournaments but never actually see war or skirmishes.”

 

“Pick battles.” Amy offered weakly. “Don’t _want_ hurt. Not with~out cause. Besides….With or without Qun, Bull is good man.”

 

“Hm.”

 

Amy yelped a little when she felt Bull’s hand slide up the back of her thighs and against her backside. “Bull!” she knocked the shit out of one of his horns, making his head tilt at an awkward angle for a moment.

 

“Uh, Chief?” Krem’s voice was a touch unsteady. He obviously didn’t want to question Bull, especially in front of so many strangers. But this behavior was…well…out of the ordinary to say the least.

 

“Yeah, you’ve got some serious muscle back here…for kicking, I mean.” He said with a smirk. “No wonder your attacks are all leg.”

 

“What is going on here?” Bull turned to find Elossa glaring up at him…which meant, technically Amy was turned as well, as she was still pinned against Bull in that grip of his.

 

Her excitement at the mage speaking to her again easily trumped her irritation, and she waved down at her almost frantic, nearly loosing her upright position. It was not too unlike Sarah Jessica Parker’s character in Hocus Pocus when she excitedly waved at the zombie guy… Brahma, what was that character’s name? ….it couldn’t be Serah, could it? That was the actress’s name……It couldn’t be that easy….it was probably Serah.

 

“Oh, hey there. Elossa, right? Yeah, I’m just carrying Amy wherever she wants since she kicked my ass in the fight.”

 

“Forgive me for intruding, The Iron Bull, but it appears that she doesn’t really _want_ to be carried anywhere.” Elossa pointed out, frostily. She crossed her arms and glared up at him, pointedly staring at his hand still resting against Amy’s backside.

 

“Eh-heh…” Bull laughed nervously, carefully moving that hand.

 

“Kindly put the woman down, please.” Elossa commanded.

 

“Yes, ma’am.” Bull said, kneeling once again so that Amy was on her feet. He peeked over at her and said quietly. “We’ll continue this discussion another time.”

 

“You walk me to chantry tonight.” Amy offered. She knew Bull wouldn’t let up on it, and she wasn’t the sort to scurry away from a confrontation.

 

Obviously. She’d just gotten into a sparing match with the Iron Bull….and had completely exposed herself as a competent enough opponent. 

 

“Alright, Charmer.” He said, a grin crooking the side of his mouth just a touch.

 

She carefully stroked the side of his face with the back of her knuckles. “Drink water more. Eat meat.”

 

He snorted out a breathy laugh. “Yes, Ma'am.” He said, holding up his arms in the same ‘I yield’ position he’d taken earlier and finally releasing Amy fully.

 

“Amy, come here.” Elossa insisted, holding out her hand. Amy half skipped to Elossa, more than thrilled when the mage folder their arms together and turned to walk back towards the Mage’s tent. “You really should be more careful around the men here. It’s not to say they mean any harm, but some of them get complacent. They can manhandle a woman.”

 

“Bull is good.” Amy assured her.

 

“I know you like him, Amy, but—”

 

“Like them all.” Amy protested petulantly. “Bull and Krem and Chargers and Varric and even Solas.”

 

“Who’s Solas?”

 

“Sexy elf apostate.” That made Elossa draw up short, blinking rapidly and trying to play off her sudden interest.

 

Amy felt a strange catharsis in admitting it too. There really wasn’t any shame in saying Solas was sexy, because he was. She’d thought as much on her first play-through…and then finding out he was some sort of ancient elven not-god-but-something-from-an-ageless-bygone-era only added to the appeal. Not that his appeal could be entirely attributed to his knowledge or longevity…. The elf could sashay like no one else. Such sass. Much saunter. Wow.

 

“Uh…” Elossa cleared her throat. “Oh?”

 

“Resents Dalish, cause they backward and wrong, but knows. Everything. About. Everything.” Amy said. “Likes questions.”

 

“Ah. Well.. He’s not wrong about the Dalish.”

 

“Yeah. Kinda arraah….arrogant. But figures. His name. _Is_. Solas.”

 

Elossa actually chuckled at that. “True enough.” The mages were staring at the two women as they entered the tent. “What?” Elossa asked, practically challenging the stares of her colleagues.

 

“Say or don’t.” Amy seconded.

 

“Did you actually just kick that Qunari in the face?” One of the men asked. He had tattered robes and hair black as ink, and a five o’clock shadow that was a several hours early.

 

“Did.” Amy confirmed.

 

The man’s mouth fell open and he looked out towards the training field, holding his mouth open as if he were visibly keeping himself from speaking until he could think of how to. “Ok, but how though?” he finally asked, clearly loosing the battle with eloquence.

 

Well. At lest they were willing to communicate.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year, Gaiz :3


	6. The Age of Not Believing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was hard, guys :| I just...engh...

Amy was happy to say that she lasted all day without nodding off once and made it to closing without feeling too run down. There was a simple ‘tired’ that came with having a full day.

 

She’d felt that weird menthol cooling sensation when she was in the mage’s tent, and briefly wondered if that was just some sort of ambient magical energy… Like, maybe mages just did that. Had that around them at times or…something.

 

It was a working idea, but it didn’t make a lot of sense now. It wasn’t like she had anyone to talk to about it.

 

“Well… looks like almost everyone’s gone.” Flissa was saying as she pretended to wipe down the counter again.

 

“You can go ahead and head home, Flissa. I’ll walk Charmer to the chantry.”

 

Flissa stared between Bull and Amy, suddenly conflicted as dots connected.

 

“Go ‘head.” Amy assured. “I close.”

 

“Uhh…” Flissa stared at Amy and nodded. “Well… I mean. If you say so.”

 

“So.” Amy said with a smile and a nod. The woman nodded with a quiet ‘right then’ before leaving.

 

Amy knew that Flissa was one of Leliana’s people. She did say Leliana hired her, after all. It wasn’t much of a jump to know that she probably reported things back to Leliana. So, the idea of leaving Amy alone with Bull meant she’d miss out on ‘intel’ but at the same time… did she really want to be present for this?

 

No.

 

Probablynot.

 

Amy wasn’t even sure if _she_ wanted to be present for this.

 

It didn’t stop her from grabbing a bottle and an empty glass for herselfand sitting at the opposite end of the table from Bull. She poured a hearty portion for herself, capped the bottle and then slid it across the rickety wooden surface to him.

 

“Don’t mind if I do.” He said before topping himself off. They both took a drink, Amy hissing out from ground teeth. “So. There’s one order of business that I feel is crucial. We have to get it out of the way before we can move on to anything else.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Yeah.” Bull said, sitting up straighter and leaning his elbows on the table. “Amy. I want to fuck you.”

 

Amy hung her head, holding it up with both hands as she very nearly kissed the tabletop. “Bull.” She groaned.

 

“I’m serious. All the cards on the table, I think it’d be good for both of us. Release tension and maybe help you with your health.”

 

“Gonna fuck me to good health?” Amy asked, her face a little red.

 

“Who knows?” Bull said with a big grin. “It could happen.” He regarded her, and something in his observation sobered him slightly. “But you’re not down for that, right?”

 

Amy sighed heavily, her chin on the table. There were…multiple reasons why she had reservations. Very valid reasons that made no amount of temptation worth it. But how to explain. She pushed herself up held up her right hand. “Sex.” She said as if labeling her hand metaphorically. She held up her left hand. “Love and other feelings.” She laced her fingers together and gripped. She attempted to pull her hands apart, but they were solid. “Can’t separate.”

 

Bull was nodding, his bottom lip jutting out before he bit it back into place. “I get that. But… I could convince you.”

 

“Tried once.” Amy said with a sigh, taking a sip and enjoying the cool burn of the alcohol. “Sexually, I’m into men. But….My friend…Jamie. She want an ‘us’.” Brahma’s Beard, she’d come a long way. Talking about her ill-fated affair with Jaime usually felt jagged, but now… it was evidence that reminded her not to try being something she wasn’t. “I think, ‘I love her, maybe I can try.’” Amy said with a derisive snort. “No good. If you have to think something like, ‘maybe I can _try_ ’ then probably not. Still love her, but… Love and want..” She shook her head “not same.” She said taking another long drink.

 

Bull heaved a sigh. “I can’t say it’s not a little disappointing. I could even try to say you’re awfully handsy for someone who doesn’t want me, but… we both know that’s just one of the ways you express affection.” He said taking a drink.

 

“One of my higher love languages.” Amy nodded.

 

“…Do what now?”

 

“There’s this…theory. Says there are 5 love languages, and everyone puts values on different ones. Also, different in how it’s given and received.” Bull blinked as he considered that. “Mine rate Acts of Service, Appropriate Touch, Quality Time, Gifts, and Words of Affirmation. Don’t need _all_ but they are all good.” Amy considered her hands, still clasped together. “Want me to stop?” Bull blinked at her. “Touch?”

 

Bull partially glared, but with little heat. “Don’t you dare.” Amy chuckled, a little self conscious. She wondered if this was how Dorian felt when the Inquisitor accused him of flirting with no intention to follow up. “Besides,” Bull grinned roguishly. “You could change your mind.” He said, taking another gulp of his drink.

 

“Crazier things happened.” Amy admitted.

 

“So…on to the other stuff.” Bull regarded her carefully. “Who are you, Charmer?”

 

“Amy McManus.”

 

“Hm. Sounds like that _could_ be a Marcher name. You a Marcher, Charmer?”

 

Amy shook her head. “Daughter of Patrick second and Bridget McManus. Older brothers, Patrick third and Connor. Jamie platonic soul mate.”

 

Bull paused, regarding her before drinking. “There a reason you’re saying their names?”

 

“Helps.” Amy took a sip, able to bear it now that she’d done it a few times. “Remember them. Keep strong. Keep self.”

 

For a long moment Bull considered that before nodding. “Two things. First. Where are they?”

 

“Oregon.” Amy said with a smile.

 

His eye ticked to the right as if he were searching his own brain. “Where’s that?”

 

Amy shook her head. “Place you don’t know.” She said. He stared at her. “Martial Arts Mastery dojo belongs to Father.”

 

“What the fuck is a dojo?”

 

“Place where martial skills taught. Father owns. Runs. Many teachers under him. I teach too.” Bull was blinking and nodding slowly.

 

“That makes sense.” He allowed before taking another drink. “So. Your dad had his own place where he trained people to fight the way that you fight. All those men fighting for your Papa? Bet you were set up nice there. Like a princess, huh?”

 

Amy snorted, the inelegance fueled by the alcohol. “No.” Amy rocked back, relaxing against the back of her chair. “Had to learn. Had to fight. Had to prove I could.” She licked her lips…they felt chapped, which made no sense. “Dojo like forge. Raw material beaten into best form. Hard work earns a place among comrades who’ll fight for you vigorously as they fight against you to make you better.”

 

“Oh yeah?”

 

Amy nodded. “Learned form and technique from father and many other teachers. Every day. None of them went easy. Later learned Nutrition. Body. Better to instruct others. Pair that with martial skill Papa raised me on.” She took a deep breath in and chuckled. “Truth, Justice, Honor, and Loyalty.”

 

Bull’s mouth wilted as he nodded, considering her words. “Good things to learn.”

 

“Papa… Papa loves his ThunderCats.” Amy said chuckling. “Dojo’s banner is black with red circle and those words embroidered in black on the red circle.” She was laughing now. “Code of Thundera.” She said still chuckling. “Papa loved those.” She swallowed.

 

“Amy. If this is too much—”

 

Amy shook her head. “I don’t belong, Bull.” She said. “But if I did, I wouldn’t know what I know.” Her head lulled back. “But everyone…thinks….I’m crazy. So no …one listens.” Now her words were not so stilted, but they ran together and slurred. It was an effort to keep them apart form each other, to make sure some emphasis was resting on the sentence structure….still, it was less annoying than choppy pronunciation. Perhaps she should drink more often.

 

“Hey, come on. We don’t _all_ think you’re crazy.” Bull said.

 

“Wanna help but I can’t.” She was trying to think of how to really explain this. “If I try, then I’m in danger or a danger…or both.”

 

“Let’s just focus on what we know.” Bull corralled the conversation in, or tried to.

 

Amy snorted. “What we know. What _I…_ know… is that I’m not crazy. I know what I know, but it doesn’t matter if I want to help. Some people will think just me knowing things will make me a danger to them. So, being crazy means I’m safe, but I can’t help anyone.”

 

“…But, you feel safe enough with me to talk about it all.” Bull observed. “You think I won’t hurt you because I want you?”

 

Amy laughed. “No, Bull. You don’t know the why’s or the how’s either, but you don’t want to hurt me. Besides,” Amy shrugged. “You see truth in most of what I say anyway.” His eyebrows ticked up and he nodded at that. Amy took a moment to take another drink. She stood up and slowly made her way closer, sitting on Bull’s right. “What I say… I don’t mean harm, Bull, but it may hurt to hear.”

 

He regarded her with quiet reluctance, but finally gave her the go ahead. “Oh? What’s that?”

 

Amy stared at him levelly. “You make decisions with your Chargers. It’s your role. You observe and notice because you can. It’s also your role.” She shook her head slowly. “You do not like to make the certain decisions. Policy. Fate of the world. What is and what should be.” She let those words sink in. “You like to have someone to keep you in check.” His eye narrowed. “Let them into your mind so you wouldn’t have to think. You let them tear the pages out and rewrite what they wanted. How you survived Seheron.” She shrugged, and they both took a long drink. “Is not good, is not bad, is what is. Unless you have orders, you wont make the call.” She smiled. “‘Sides. You don’t really _want_ to hurt.”

 

Bull watched her before slowly rocking in a nod. “So. I’m a safe bet.” He seemed fascinated with the glass before he spoke again. “….how much do you know about Seheron?” his voice was low, grave.

 

“Only what I hear.” Bull nodded, seeming somewhat comforted by that. “If I tell you something…” Amy stared at him and sighed, shaking her head.

 

“What?” Iron Bull nearly barked. “You can’t pull a lead up and then not deliver.”

 

“Things I know… they aren’t all things I’ve learned because I’ve seen them or experienced them. Some…some are things others say or see.” He blinked at her, beginning to open his mouth. “Not a mage thing, not a demon thing. Don’t even fade when I dream.”

 

Bull half winced, his eye narrowing. “That’s impossible. All humans are connected to the fade. It’s how they dream.”

 

“I don’t.” It was true. Amy’s dreams had all been nothing but darkness. She hadn’t been the most vivid dreamer before she’d come to Thedas, but she’d still dreamed. At first, she just assumed that she was too tired to dream…but it’d been so long, and…nothing.

 

“..huh.” He surveyed her face, his eyes narrowing again. “What are you thinkin?” he asked pointing, his finger circling to imply her entire face was somehow informing him that her thoughts were askew.

 

She sighed, resting a hand against his wrist staring down at her freckled hand, still pale over his grey skin.

 

“There’s so much…so much I can say. Things about how…you are strong enough on your own to endure without the Qun. Just as Bull. You have your boys. You have yourself.” She stared up at him. “You _could_ make the call. You _could_ answer all of your own questions. You don’t have to be afraid of loosing your mind.”

 

Bull swallowed thickly. “It’s things like that…. It makes me wonder how you can know these things.” A statement that was also a question.

 

“I’m not from here, Bull.”

 

“I could tell by the accent.”

 

“No. I mean Thedas. I’m not ….from… Thedas.” She was starting to sound like Xenon and his rickety old ‘Theeey Dassss’ drawl.

 

He squinted. “…Musta been a long boat ride…” He drawled, another statement that was a question.

 

“Thedas is a continent in a region on a planet within a world… I’m not from any of it, Bull. I’m not from this world.” It felt very hard to keep her head held up at this point. She let herself bow down, her chin resting near Bull’s hand.

 

“Where I’m from, there is no fade. No Qunari. No elves. No dwarves, at least not like there are here. Only humans. It’s all modern and industrial. Big cities contrasted by regions of striking poverty and farm lands set out among untamed nature…or other way around.” She felt her grin widen as she considered. "Maybe is untamed poverty and striking nature..." she shrugged. 

 

She didn’t see his eye widen, because she was a little captivated by his knuckles. Only a little. “There, I lived in Oregon with my family. The region of North America, on planet Earth, in a world where the only monsters and magic we’ve found are within ourselves.”

 

She couldn’t control the slurring at this point. Everything was spilling out of her, and though she’d made the decision to trust Bull, she wasn’t entirely in control of how the information was coming out.

 

“Maybe we should get you back to the chantry…You…you look tired.” Bull said carefully.

 

Amy blinked, staring up at him. “What? I’m not tired, I’m jus—just—somewhere... past tipsy, but not quite drunk yet.”

 

“Maybe.” He allowed, but rose anyway.

 

She rocked back staring at him. He stared back. The unstoppable force staring at the immovable object....but which was which?

 

“You don’t believe me.” Her voice was soft and child-like in it’s naiveté. Bull's eyes darted to the doorframe. 

 

“It’s… It’s just…a lot to processes.”

 

“You don’t. Believe. Me.”

 

He sighed heavily, a hand coming up to scratch the back of his neck. “You just said you come from another world. And not the fade, which would’ve been scary as shit but at least it’s something I could wrap my horns around.” He shook his head. “It’s just… Just a lot. And it’s not like there’s anywhere I could check to verify that you—”

 

His words rusted, halting short. His eye rounded in horror. “Hey…hey now.” He held up his hands in surrender in her general direction. It was ludicrous, as she hadn't moved even a smidgen. 

 

It was then she realized her eyes were glassy, welling up—and only then because her vision went watery.

 

She took in a shuddering breath through her nose and stood, swaying before she steadied herself against the table.

 

“Right.” She croaked, turning away from him and swiping at her face. She reached out absently, her hand closing around the neck of the bottle. “Should clean up. Should’ve closed up first.”

 

Of course he didn’t believe her.

 

She barely believed her.

 

It was ludicrous to think it could be so easy…. And yet it hurt _so. Much._

 

He could believe that it was normal—even advisable—to bind mages, chop off hands off and cut out their tongues. He could believe that everything they’d done to him after Seheron was for his own good. But he couldn’t believe her when she tried to tell him….

 

Of course he couldn’t. It’d break his tiny world to even fathom such a thing. At best, he’d need time…….

 

Maybe….maybe, after the Inquisitor took his quest—assuming that the inquisitor would choose to spare the Chargers…

 

oh, great. Now she was afraid to loose the Chargers. It caused a separate ache. She’d like to think—on their own—as in, her thinking of loosing the chargers or Bull preferring to believe she was crazy instead of believing her to be sincere—she could bear up normally.

 

Once she was behind the bar, she squeezed her eyes closed so tightly she saw dark-motes in the dark behind her eyes. She was panting slightly, but that would eventually even out.

 

She needed to get a grip on herself. No matter how jagged the edges were, she had to keep it together.

 

It was only rational, she reminded herself. He was part of a people and age of not believing in anything they weren't taught. The Qun was supposed to answer all of the questions. She imagined that everything she was saying was inserting a lot of gaps. He'd _have_ to take a step back... there was really no reason for her to feel so... so...geh.

 

“What are you thinking?” He asked, sounding....neutral.

 

“Bednobs and broomsticks.” she muttered, recalling the horrible, sad song of Angela Lansbury's. 

 

“What?” it came out as a half laugh. 

 

“Nothing.” Amy flicked her wrist, a spastic ‘shoo’ gesture done flung absently over her shoulder. She still couldn’t look at him. “Go on.” She said, proud to note there wasn’t a single waver in her voice. “Can close and walk on my own.”

 

“Amy.” He’d drawn closer, leaning against the bar. “I don’t want to leave you on your own if you’re…unwell.”

 

Oh. That was going to get annoying. If he was going to start walking on eggshells around her like Cullen, she’d rather he kept thinking she was just crazy.

 

She forced a laugh, which sounded like evil Japanese school girls from a couple of anime that she’d watched.

 

“Silly Bull.” She said as she turned and wafted by him, still not making any eye contact. “Even crazies can walk. Even drunk crazies. No worries.” She half chuckled as she retrieved their now empty glasses. “Dunno why I’m suddenly Australian.” She mumbled before turning around and taking the glasses back behind the counter. “Absolutely. G’day.” She tried to wave him away again. “Go. Get thanked by chantry sister.”

 

He made a strange grunt of surprise. “Uh…you know about that, huh?”

 

“She’s in chantry. I'm in chantry. Crazy, not deaf, Bull.” Amy reminded. She was trying. Trying hard not to let his assumptions get to her…but…

 

It hurt.

 

She’d really wanted to tell him. And she’d really wanted him to believe her. She’d wanted someone to understand, and she’d assumed he would.

 

Now, she’d trusted him… and he denied her that reassurance.

 

“Go on.” She said, cleaning the glasses.

 

She felt him remain—felt his eye on her—but she paid it no mind. She just continued to dry off the now clean glasses and put them back in their place.

 

“Alright then.” He said at last. She could hear him let go of the topic. It was obvious they weren't going to get anywhere. What she was telling him wasn't something he'd expected at all, and he literally could not believe her. There was really no point. “I’ll see you later, Charmer.”

 

“Dream well.” She sang out as she heard the door close. She’d kept herself locked up till she was certain she’d heard him drift away from the doorway.

 

The glasses were clean. The counters were wiped down…no reason to stay.

 

She set about blowing out the lanterns before closing up entirely. Then she drifted back to the chantry, neither hurrying or dallying.

 

“Goodness, Child.” Mother Giselle said as she made her way through the chantry and to her humble quarters. “You seem…worn.” Her tone was careful, and concerned.

 

Amy rubbed an eyebrow absently. “Tired.”

 

“Then rest, Child.”

 

“Maker’s Grace.” Amy murmured, ducking behind the door.

 

In the dark, alone in her bed, even with her face buried in her pillow, she couldn’t stop the tears from falling.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I take little pleasure from seeing both Bull and Amy in turmoil. Let's hope this sorts itself out quickly -..-'


	7. That Sounds Orlesian

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whew....this past week was rough, guys. Like... whoa. We lost Bowie and then we lost Alan Rickman. It was bad. I dunno about you guys, but I've been super depressed.
> 
> I've been trying to finish this chapter for what feels like forever....I just hope it doesn't suck.... *sighs*

Amy was really good at crying quietly.

 

That’s a horrible skill to have, but it’s something that comes in handy. Especially when you can’t help but cry yourself to sleep, and you have to share sleeping quarters in a church.

 

She knew that she looked haggard when the sisters had suggested that she sleep a little more. But no amount of sleep would help. At least, she hadn’t disturbed anyone else though. That was somewhat of a comfort.

 

After breakfast(which the sisters _insisted_ she take with a touch of rejuvenating potion), she trekked down to the stables. The stable hands were used to her now, so they already knew that she would handle feeding their spirited paint horse. She was glad they’d reached the point in the relationship where they could all blithely ignore one another…especially today.

 

As usual, she gave him his allotment of feed. While he happily munched, she tended to him. She picked out his hooves, which was more for him growing accustomed to the ritual than his actual hoofhealth. He didn’t cover a lot of ground, so there was mostly just dirt…still, he needed to get used to the process. She’d also curry comb and then brush him.

 

Somehow, he always managed to get mud clots in his main and tail, so she’d work those out as well. By the time she moved to his mane, he was usually done with his food. So, she would climb up the railing and sit on top of it. It gave her a better vantage point get the mud out of his mane. At this point, she could rest both legs across his back while she sat on the fence and picked through is mane. He just stood there and enjoyed her attention.

 

…She’d come a long way with this horse. “Bet I could sit on you.” She said to him softly. “Bet I could tell you too….You’d go with me on it.” She tried not to pout.

 

Normally, she would sing to him…but the only song on her mind was ‘The Dawn Will Come’ and she could not sing that to him.

 

Hm…

 

What to sing, what to sing?

 

“Woke up on the right side of the bed. What’s up with this Prince song inside my head? Hands up if you’re down to get down tonight. Cause it’s always a good time!”

 

It was Jamie’s fault. Jamie exposed Amy to a music library of over 10 thousand songs (not all were actual songs, some were soundtracks and orchestra, or radio-plays, but still).

 

When they had lived together (which had been the bulk of her college years along with one post-graduate year) Owl City had been one of their favorites… It was the easiest way to clean house or exercise.

 

The music was catchy, bubbly, energizing and empowering even. Good Time was a wake-up song for both her and Jaimie, and not the version with Carly Rae either. Just the one with Adam Young. It was a little slower and more relaxed. But today…this one wasn’t right.

 

She just… didn’t have the heart for it this morning. Maybe something …newer?

 

“So I walk alone, down the darkest roads, cause I’ve always known how the story goes. When the curtain falls, I’ll be wearing thin, clawing at the walls as they’re closing in.”

 

That definitely fit her mood better.

 

“In this twisted plot I was destined for, I’m a heretic in a holy war.”—ok, that was not the correct lyric, but who was going to call her on it here? The horse? No—“So misunderstood, till the bloody end. How I wish I could do it all again.”

 

She’d planted her heels on the horse’s back and her feet began to sway to the beat that was in her head.

 

“It feels like I’m a lone survivor, forgotten in a dark and deadly world. And on my own, I walk alone. To see the sun again, I’d give anything.”

 

The horse shuffled closer to the fence. Her feet casually slipped to the other side of the horse, as her knees rested accross his back.

 

“But life demands a final chapter. A story that we all must leave behind. It’s do or die. And this is mine. The anthem of a bird with a broken wing.”

 

…. and now the horse began to draw away…

 

“Heeey…” she warned. But instead of paying her any mind, leaving the fence _with_ her legs in tow. So, she lifted herself up and moved the scant inch forward to sit atop his back….it was strange because she’d never ridden side-saddle, and that’s how she was seated.

 

….the creature only stopped moving once she was on him.

 

She twisted to face forward with him. “…Thank you?” she said carefully. She was surprised when his head ticked up a bit, as if he were proud that he’d managed to get her on his back.

 

…Thedas was full of weird things. The Dalish could practically speak to their Halla. The Ferelden’s had Mabari smart enough to understand instruction(better than a couple of people she’d met, even). And then there was this asshole.

 

It was weird.

 

She relaxed against him, letting her legs hang—one off his side, and the other off his rump. She could lay back against his neck and be completely comfortable.

 

…Well. Reasonably comfortable.

 

She felt the horse relax a bit as well… She didn’t want to read too much into it, but it almost felt as if he were trying to reassure her. Maybe even comfort her.

 

“Wether near or far. I am al-ways yours. Any change in time. We are young aga~in.” She sang softly as she lay atop him. “Lay us down. We’re in lo~ve. Lay us down, we’re in lo~ve.”

 

Panic! At the Disco could be life changing, and engaging, and in your face….but it could be so sweet too. The cadence of this song was so…so…sway-ey. If that made any sense at all. It was almost a lullaby.

 

“In these coming years. Many things will change. But the way I feel. Will remain the sa~ame.” She felt a great breath heave and leave the horse beneath her. “Lay us down. We’re in lo~ve. Lay us down, we’re in lo~ve.”

 

It was a small song, but the sentiment was so comforting. She could continue it by simply repeating the verses or just vocalizing the tune itself. Either way, she was still keeping with the mood of the song.

 

“Well, he certainly likes you.”

 

It took effort, but Amy made herself remain still. She looked over, just to the walkway in the stables, and saw horsemaster Dennet. Behind him was Harritt and Blackwall.

 

The horse had also swiveled his head to stare at the encroaching men. His ears weren’t back though, so that was good. One ear was cocked back to her and the opposite was forward, towards them. He was paying attention to both, then. Not quite tense yet, but paying attention to her cues.

 

Her first instinct was to spring up and try to dart away. She repressed it, staring at the three men as though it were perfectly natural for her to be in a stable that wasn’t her’s, atop a horse that wasn’t her’s, singing a song that—technically and copyright-wise speaking—wasn’t her’s.

 

Amy sat up, but slowly. She didn’t want to disturb the horse, after all.

 

“So this is where you’ve been.” Harritt groused. “I’d wondered why we hadn’t seen you today.”

 

It was only then that Amy realized she’d been there a while. She couldn’t see the sun, but she could tell that the shadows had moved by a little more than an hour.

 

“Sorry.” Amy responds, abashed. “Singing.” She said, her fingers tangling in the horse’s brittle mane…she really needed to stop calling him ‘the horse’.

 

“So we noticed.” Dennet said with smirk. Amy tensed slightly, wondering exactly how long they’d been watching her.

 

….damn.

 

…Now she was self conscious.

 

“Usually gone by now.” Amy stuttered, shifting slightly when the horse shifted.

 

“I know.” Harritt said, approaching the fence to lean on it. “You’ve usually breezed through the forage, cleanin’ up with little excess bits are on the ground by now.”

 

She nodded heavily with a small smile. “Get that soon.”

 

“Don’t worry about that.” Harritt grumbled, but he was smiling. “Why you lingerin’ here anyway?”

 

“Finding joy.” The three stared at her and she felt encumbered to explain. “Wise man say, ‘Find a place inside where there’s joy, and the joy will burn out the pain.’”

 

It was frustrating that someone else’s words would flow so much more easily than her own. Still. Joseph Campbell knew what he was talking about.

 

Silence, save for the shuffling and snuffling of horses around them, till Blackwall (of all people) responded. “There’s wisdom in that.”

 

Amy had thought of many things that she could say to Blackwall (privately, of course) when she saw him. Things that would be impossible for her to know that would validate her as knowledgable and not crazy. …And now, she felt only a sad sort of restraint settle over her. There wasn’t really much of a point, was there?

 

“You don’t know our little Charmer, do you?” Harritt asked.

 

“You damn well know that neither of us have met her.” Dennet groused.

 

…Amy wasn’t sure exactly why, but she’d never really thought about Harritt, Dennet and Blackwall being Bro’s. Like, now that she _was_ thinking about it, she didn’t know why she hadn’t just assumed it right off the bat. Even the game had put them all very close together. While the stables weren’t right up on the forge the way it was in-game, it was very close.

 

And they were all… well. They all seemed like a similar sort. Grouchy skilled men who had seen horrible parts of the world and still strived to do what they could. 

 

“Well, Amy,” Harritt began. “Can you tell me who these two are?” Both Dennet and Blackwall stared at him.

 

“Horsemaster Dennett. Warden Blackwall.” Amy replied, nodding to each man in turn.

 

“That’s right.” Harritt said with a grin as the two men that flanked him stared (at Amy and at him). “Boys, this is our resident wonder, Amy. Better known as Charmer, or so I’m told.”

 

Amy smirked. “Charmed.”

 

“Ah.” Blackwall murmured. “I think Varric may’ve mentioned something about you.”

 

“Prob’ly.” Amy grumbled, pulling a face and sliding slowly off the horse’s back.

 

He didn’t spook, so that was good news. She wasn’t sure if he’d be the sort to spook at any excuse, and there was really only one way to find out… to test him multiple times in different situations.

 

Blackwall chuckled. “Yeah, he does like to tell his stories.”

 

“Well, I haven’t heard anything about her.” Dennet said, in his most surly voice. “So don’t keep us all in suspense. What are we supposed to know?”

 

“I’m crazy.” Amy drawled, so it came out more I’m ‘Eyham Craaay zay.”

 

Dennet stared at her for a few seconds before letting out a single abrupt bark of laughter. “You’re possibly the most lucid crazy person I’ve ever met.”

 

“You meet many crazy people, Dennet?” Harritt grunted.

 

“I met _you_.”

 

“Boys.” Amy warned. Oddly enough, tactics like that worked even on older men. Amy’s mother had been a big believer in the authority of women even in places where a woman normally _wouldn’t_ have authority. Namely around Alpha Males or even well-possessed Beta males.

 

Should a woman express dissatisfaction in something, that something will be reevaluated and readdressed, depending on the manner in which said dissatisfaction is made known. This includes behavior…. Those were her words exactly.

 

“So…is this your horse, then?” Blackwall asked.

 

“No.” Amy said, scratching along the horse’s neck, and that spot just behind his ear. It made his ear twitch, and he would lean into the touch.

 

“Are you sure?” Dennet asked, his eyebrows high and his expression skeptical. “He doesn’t let anyone else near him.”

 

She blinked. “Just talk and sing to him.” Amy said. “Nice boy.”

 

Dennet snorted. “Not to anyone else.”Amy only shrugged. Dennet surveyed the horse, scratching the scruff of his chin as he thought. “Alright. Here’s the deal. This horse? It belonged to one of our Dalish recruits, right?”

 

Amy stared at him and then at the horse. Was this the Dalish All-Bred horse? Amy had just assumed it was a paint…. not all paints belonged to the Dalish…right?

 

....was that racist? Was it racist to assume all Dalish rode halla or paint horses? Oh, ThunderCats. Now there was a whole new load of political correctness she needed to consider.

 

“Unfortunately, he died out in the field while fighting the templars.”

 

A hand drifted up to cover her gaping mouth. No wonder the poor horse had been so distressed. It probably hadn’t seen its master in forever…and animals knew things. Maybe it had even been in the field with its master, and they’d had to coral it back to Haven. Talk about stressful. And sad.

 

“It won’t let anyone near it. Damn animal bit the shit outta me twice in as many days. All it used to do is pace and kick up a fuss. But it’s been relatively tame lately.” Dennet eyed her. “I’m thinkin’ that’s probably your influence.”

 

Amy was still staring at the horse in sympathy. Her hand brushed the underside of his jaw, scratching down his long, sweet face.

 

“It seems the easiest option is to give him to you.” Dennet’s words snapped Amy’s attention back to the men on the other side of the stall fencing. She blinked owlishly at Dennet, who was smirking in that ‘knowing old man’ sort of way.

 

“I… I… Can’t afford.”

 

“Technically the horse belongs to the Herald, but he never uses him. Mostly because he can’t, but also because he’s got two other mounts that are more reliable. He uses them more, depending on where he’s going.” Dennet shrugged. “Besides, if you don’t take ownership of him, he’ll just waste away in the stall. He does nothing but eat and get put out to pasture with the others. Eats too damn much, the glutton. He’ll obviously let you ride him, so… it just seems the natural process to let you have him.”

 

Amy’s gaze went back to the horse. It felt like being around this horse was normal even though all she’d done was feed him, groom him, sing to him, and talk at him for the past five days…. Was it like Mabari? Did he just pick her?

 

…

 

They would both need training.

 

She preferred bareback riding anyway because it allowed so much more communication between the horse and rider.

 

She felt a tiny smile start to spread on her face.

 

“So, what are you gonna call ‘im.” Harritt asked. The man seemed inordinately pleased at this turn of events. It wasn't as if he was getting the horse.. Then again, he didn't seem to hate Amy... So maybe, he was just happy for her. 

 

She thought about his question for a moment before her eyes lit up. “Voltaire.” She said, a nearly Joker-esk grin splitting her face. This horse was smart and cheeky. Voltaire was a _perfect_ name.

 

“Volt air?”

 

Amy shook her head. “Voltaire.” She instructed, pronouncing it with a French accent.

 

Dennet’s nose wrinkled in distaste. “Sounds Orlesian.” He gave her a half-amused-half-suspicious stare. “You Orlesian, Charmer?”

 

“Non.” Amy sniffed.

 

“So, you just speak Orlesian now?” Harritt asked which a chuckle. 

 

Dennet shrugged. “If it isn’t broken.” He grunted. “So…you wanna take him into the ring? Put him through some paces maybe?”

 

Amy felt like her face would be frozen with this overjoyed smile forever. Of course, that wasn’t so, but it felt that way right now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ....I'm not saying that Voltaire is better than Bull....but at least he cheered Amy up.


	8. The Stages of Recoup d'etat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sings* I got two papers due, but I'm totally gonna procrastinate with this :D Eeeennnjoy~

 

Amy wasn’t certain what the exact stages of grief were or what order they were supposed to go in…but she was a roller coasters…or maybe bumper cars was more accurate. Or… some ungodly bastard child of roller coasters and bumper cars.

 

Every time she thought about Bull too much, she’d transition very rapidly through bargaining and acceptance… She’d rationalize about his upbringing and how it was unfair to expect so much of him…and then she’d be pissed.

 

She couldn’t rationalize her way out of being pissed either. Every time she tried, she’d just get more pissed.

 

So.

 

It really. REALLY. Didn’t pay to think about it.

 

Hard to do when you’re serving drinks in the tavern. But busy work had always been exactly what she needed to recoup... Recoup...coup. Coup d'etat....fucking Orlais. 

 

Damn if she didn't need to refocus. Patrons. Right. She could focus on the patrons. Drinks. And things.

 

Most of the regulars had already shoved off, and it was down to the Chargers with Bull, Blackwall, Varric, Sera, Solas….and not-Dean Winchester.

 

Not-Dean Winchester must have the weirdest schedule, because he’d just up and disappear for days—weeks even—and then he’d be back in the tavern, drinking a modest sum away, and trying to flatter Amy.

 

…He wasn’t propositioning her any longer, so she didn’t mind. Now he was just acting like a big teddy bear. It was very obvious that he only tried to flirt with her when he felt like he should…

 

She really needed to stop calling him ‘Not-Dean Winchester’ too. She wondered briefly if Varric had a nickname for him..

 

But no matter how she tried, being so near the Chargers and Bull made her feel awkward at best. Mostly, Amy used a cheerful smile and the bunny-dip to help her not meet Charger’s eyes. She’d serve them drinks by dipping back in the ‘playboy bunny dip’ fashion and then twirl away. It wasn’t like she was being mean…she still waited on them, still smiled at them and laughed at their jokes….she just didn’t dote on them the same way.

 

Solas was the worst, because he continuously watched with those all-knowing eyes… Varric was probably aware too. He had that look about him.

 

Anyway, she mostly kept behind the bar with Flissa.

 

“Flissa?” Amy wondered absently while trying to distract herself. “Ever ask Adan?”

 

“Hm?” Flissa turned to look at Amy, utterly confused. “What would I need to ask Adan for?”

 

“Ress. Ressip. Recipes. Helps people.” Flissa was still staring at her. Obviously it wasn’t obvious enough. “Mix things. Things he has. Mix them n’to drinks and food. Help people. Make more…more…stal…stalwart.”

 

Flissa blinked and stared down at the bar. “Huh… You know, I had thought about something like that. I’ve brought some warm cider to the boys in the stables and the forge. Workers need refreshments and all that. Helps them to work better and happier. I’ve been wondering if we couldn’t help the soldiers out somehow.”

 

Amy nodded. “Cullen works’em hard.”

 

“But there are _so_ many.” Flissa sighed. “I don’t even know what we could do for so many. There’s no telling how many there are.”

 

“12 plus in 12 groups.” Amy said. “Plus runners, officers, and extras.”

 

“What??”

 

“Cullen… rEAlly likes twelve.” Amy observed with a scoff. “Twelve men practice, six facing six. Officers over see. Runners nearby. Some men sit out. Watch form. Then, those men sittin’ out move inTO rotation.” Amy skimmed her finger down in the bar in a line. “First row, four groups like this. Most inex…inexper.” She huffed. “In. Ex. Peeerienced.” She whimpered at her own handicap. “Second row, four groups. Same seeeht. Set up! Only more skill. Inter. Me. Inter mediAT.” Again, she traced a line. “Last row, veteran fighters training each other and adepts. One group off ice. Two on ice. One group of ice. Still line is straight. Four groups in each line. Three rows with four groups. Twelve groups.”

 

Amy looked up from the bar to find Flissa and everyone in the bar staring at her.

 

“Waht.” She demanded, but no one said anything. They only smirked. “Hmph.”

 

Flissa chuckled. “So. If there are twelve men in groups…but you said there were extras?”

 

Amy thought about that for a moment. “Twelve fighters, six wait in wings, at least one officer and one runner. Men see to equipment while they wait. Or pre…tend. Pretend to.” She blinked. “Allowing for extras…maybe…”

 

She thought about it. 12 to a group, plus six and then allowing for extras with the officers and runners… maybe 4 more? 22 people per group. So, if that was the base number per group, multiply that times 12 and… “..two hundred and sixty-four?”

 

“That’s…uncanny.” Non-Dean said, he’d planted an elbow on the table and he was leaning heavily on his own hand.

 

“I math!” Amy defended herself, very offended that anyone thought she was incapable of doing simple addition and multiplication.

 

Not-Dean chuckled, and it wasn’t an entirely unpleasant sound. “I didn’t know math was a verb.”

 

“Hey, now.” Varric chided in his strange grumpy-affection. How was that even a thing? “Our Charmer’s smart. You should hear her sing.” Amy stared at Varric, confused. What did intelligence have to do with singing? “What? I haven’t heard you sing for a few days now, Charmer. I’d say we’re a little overdue.”

 

Not-Dean blinked at Varric. “Sing?” Not-Dean looks at Amy with a smile. “You can sing, Charmer?” Amy only nodded. She didn’t feel much like singing right now. Certainly not enough to prove a point.

 

“So… 264?” Flissa asked, redirecting the conversation.

 

Amy nodded. “We make enough for 300. Should be plenty.”

 

“Right, that I understand.” Flissa said, holding up a hand as though Amy were a restless horse. “But that only gives us the resource. We’ve no means to get that resource to the soldiers. No procedure and no workers. It’ll take more than just us.”

 

Amy considered that for a moment. “Talk to Cullen.” She said with a shrug. Flissa’s eyes grew round and large.

 

“I’m not sure that Curly will share your enthusiasm, Charmer.” Varric cautioned.

 

“Cullen knows moral.” Amy defended. “Can gage how well works.” Amy eyed Flissa. “You go to Adan. Maybe ask Mother Giz.. Giz… Gizel. Giz elle.” In the end, the best way to get a word out was the repeat the noises and grind her back teeth together. No wonder conversations gave her a headache. “Mother. Giselle. Has chantry. Could over-see volunteers.”

 

“Most of the servants are already run ragged. I wouldn’t want to trouble them…. Who do you suppose would volunteer?” Flissa asked.

 

“Can ask mages.” Amy shrugged. “So many. Huddle all cold in their tent. Some _must_ want okc. Ku. Occu PASHUN.”

 

Damnit, she was getting tired.

 

It was obvious why considering the changes in her schedule.

 

Her days now started on training with Voltaire in the mornings for a few hours before helping Harritt clean up scraps off the floor in the forge.

 

Then a quick meal before checking with Mother Giselle to see if anyone needed any specific help around the chantry or in Haven. These were not taxing jobs, mostly helping servants haul laundry or with mending and washing. The poor elves here were over-run and under appreciated, and something about helping to serve them made Amy feel better about life in general.

 

She spent the mid to latter parts of her afternoon walking around Haven…just to observe where everything was and what was considered ‘normal’ here.Eventually she’d start a long walk along the road in the neutral territory between the Mages and the Soldiers.

 

She usually tried to walk far enough down the road so that no one would see her… so that she could practice basic form. It wasn’t as if she had punching bags that she could actually practice on, or boards that she could stack and break.

 

“Oi. You think the mages will wanna help?” Sera asked, her face scrunching up. Amy couldn’t tell if that was because she was afraid of mages and magic or if she was just confused as to why they’d want to help.

 

“Mages bring re-freh…re fresh mints. To soldiers. Soldiers not so nervous around mages. Maybe even com rader ry. Camaraderie.” Amy flexed her jaw. It was starting to cramp up just from her clenching her teeth so much. “Better for Inquisition. People helping people. Relyin’ on people.” She let out a sigh. “Still gotta keep eyes and ear though.” She shook her head morosely. “Enemies attack, but only allies betray.”

 

“Wise words.” Solas murmured, his focus so fucking sharp it was scary.

 

“Elf ‘pos tate tol’ me that.” Amy said with a smirk.

 

You know who else’s focus was fucking sharp? Bull and Varric. They’d been watching Amy… well…

 

Maybe the turn of phrase is inappropriate (especially here), but…they’d been watching her like a hawk all evening.

 

Bull had said nothing though…. Not that it mattered. Amy could read him fairly well now. He seemed keenly interested in her approximation of how many soldiers they’d need to service. Like she wasn’t using her eyes and brain in tandem every goddamn day she went out and looked at the training grounds.

 

Ass wagon.

 

She was getting pissed again. Pissed while staring at the bar.

 

…Time to refocus.

 

“Talk to Adan about in-greedy-ants. Talk to mother Giselle about volunteers, include mages. Talk to Cullen about procedure.” Amy shrugged. Her expression finally schooled to something tame, so she met Flissa’s eyes. “Even if nothing happens right away, it gets everyone thinking. Sooner every knows what everyone else thinks, the sooner they can get on the same page.”

 

“All of that…” Not-Dean begins, pausing as if to collect his wits after too much drink. “Sounds amazing, and I wish you success in your every endeavor.” He finishes, almost magnanimously. At least, it would be magnanimous if he it didn’t look like he was having trouble keeping his eyes open every time he blinked. “Alas, I think I should leave soon. So, if you wouldn’t mind, dear Charmer.” He smiled at Amy, holding up his tankard. “Top me off and sing me a song?” he seemed so…tentative in asking.

 

“What song?” she scoffed, checking the shelf for the ale he liked.

 

“Oh. Something… about love that’s beautiful and melancholy… like my life.” He said with a self-depreciating snort chuckle.

 

Amy eyed the bottle in her hands before nodding. She had an idea for a song. “The Water is Wide, I can’t swim o're. And neither have I wings to fly.” She shook her head. “Build me a boat that can carry two, and both shall row, my love and I.”

 

She gently strolled forward, tipping the bottle and pouring him another measure of ale. “There is a ship and she sails the sea. She’s sails so deep as deep can be.” A radiant smile, both bright and bashful. “But not so deep as the love I'm in. I know not how to sink or swim.”

 

She drew away, leaning against the empty table while facing her audience. “I leaned my backagainst an oak, thinking it was the strongest tree.” She shook her head, trying for a forlorn expression. “But first it bent, and then it broke, and that’s the way love treated me.” Everyone seemed to have adopted her sombre mood. They regarded her pensively or stared off in thought at unremarkable tables or the floor.

  

She let herself stare down, lost in hindsight. The strange mixture of sorrow and fondness only nostalgia can breed. “For love is handsome and love is fine, and love's a jewel when first it’s new. But love grows old and it waxes cold, and fades away like morning dew.” Her eyes met Solas’s, and she used the excuse of taking his now empty glass from him asa means to draw closer to him.

 

“When salt sea turns far inland, and muscles grow on every tree, when cockle shells make silver bells,” She was still smiling, though now, it was all zugzwang. The smile of someone who cared for someone else, even though they knew that this emotion would only end with their own heartache. “then would I loose my love for thee.” The smile of someone who knew all the pain in the world wouldn’t change her feelings. 

 

She sighed, returning slowly to the bar. She had no reason to hurry. “The Water is Wide, I can’t swim o're. And neither have I wings to fly. Build me a boat that can carry two, and both shall row, my love and I.” She took a deep breath, letting herself feel the sadness again. Letting it settle. “And both shall row, my love and I.”

 

As she held and released the last note, she felt some of that melancholy go. It was….cathartic. She was able to express that horrible feeling, the knowledge that no amount of her affection would truly change things….but it didn’t kill her feelings. Maybe it still stung a bit, and maybe it would always hurt… but when she could, she would try to help.

 

Not-Dean’s face was so childlike, it was laughable. His eyes _would’ve been_ round with wonder if not for the pull of inebriation. “That was beautiful, Charmer.” He murmured, half way to resting his chin on the table.

 

Everyone seemed to have that ‘love lorn’ look about them… even Sera. Though, maybe she was thinking about all the pies she didn’t get the chance to eat today. Still, the emotion was there, and it wasn’t Amy’s place to judge what it stemmed from.

 

“I’m gonna do it!” Flissa announced with renewed gusto. “I’m gonna talk to everyone tomorrow….but…uh.” She blinked and looked at Amy. “Maybe, we could go over the numbers and things again, first?”

 

Amy smiled. If helping Flissa was all she could do… then that’s what she’d do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End Notes: So, the song that Amy sings is The Water is Wide. The version that Amy sings is by Niamh Parsons :) If you wanna hear it, there's a video here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gvv_TnAGGKA. 
> 
> Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter :) If nothing else, Amy's trying to work towards a reasonably manageable goal.


	9. Time to Wait

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I~ should be studying for mid-terms! 
> 
> ...have you noticed how often I'm using this fanfic for "creative procrastination"? I am the original sin~.
> 
> Anyway, I swear that a day has not gone by that I have not stared at this fanfic and tried to add something to it. It's slow going, because I'm studying for mid-terms and projects that are due next week (and this week), and a number of other college-related things. But I am still working at this one. It's just taking longer :)

Amy was absolutely certain that today was going to be a good day. She had formulated a plan with Flissa last night, and their shared enthusiasm left them both hopeful and excited.

 

They would wait till about an hour or more after the midday meal to gather everyone together. Flissa would have a messenger fetch Adan and meet him with Mother Giselle in the chantry. Amy would first speak to the mages, who she’d struck up an accord with recently, to gage their reactions. Then…she would let a messenger know that the trio in the Chantry needed to speak with Commander Cullen.

 

Since they had no idea how long it would take to get Cullen’s attention or if he could even be spared right away, Flissa agreed to talk shop and strategy with Adan and Mother Giselle while Amy went about her side of the plan immediately after midday.

 

But that was planning. That wasn’t what made the day (already) awesome.

 

First. She’d gotten to wash her hair. Amy had long auburn hair. Like. Down to her hips, long. Since the moment they scraped her off the floor of the dungeon, it had been put into a braid and then wrapped in a bun (after being washed, of course). But, she hadn’t noticed anyone else tending to hair… admittedly, there weren’t that many people with a lot of hair here. But one of the sisters had helped her wash her hair and re-braid it. She almost wished she could’ve left it loose, but it was utterly impractical. At this point, she was just glad it had dried before she’d left the chantry to work with Voltaire…she didn’t fancy frozen hair.

 

Also, she’d gotten new clothes. The old brown dress she’d initially been given had been far too big for her. Still, she’d made it work, tying parts of it into knots and what have you. At the very least, it allowed her a lot of movement…just… a great accompaniment of cloth. It was made of a very abrasive fabric as well. While that probably provided more insulation from the cold, it had been about ready to walk away without her. She didn’t complain though, because it was Haven… no one had an abundance of choices.

 

This morning, she’d been given a layer of insulation, a thick pair of brown breeches that shoved neatly into her boots and a tunic…the tunic looked as though it could’ve fit Blackwall, which meant it was just-above-the-knee in length for her and so baggy she could sleep in it comfortably.

 

It’d probably been cream colored once, or maybe ecru… but someone had apparently forgotten it in a wash with a lot of brown things. She supposed that wouldn’t be too bad if the garment had emerged in a consistent color. Instead it was a splotchy ‘left in brown-wash’ sort of color. The pattern almost looked like tie-dye.

 

Still she was grateful. She’d found a tattered cobalt sash and cinched it above her waist…and…well…it wasn’t Oscar de la Renta, but at least she’d tried. For the most part, no one would even notice how she was dressed, what with her heavy black cloak wrapped around her. And she refused to let the lack of style taint the fact that she now had new clothes!

 

Another great thing? Training with Voltaire was automatic at this point. The horse understood her signals, the shift of her body, her verbal clicks and cues, and even how to interpret her gait. Because, the ‘hey! I wanna cuddle’ gait was different form the ‘I’m about to hop on your back’ gait.

 

The horse was smart…furthering her belief that animals in Thedas were, or at least could be, uniquely semi-sentient. Sometimes his intelligence was a bad thing. Like when he recognized the routine and got bored with it. Or when he was pretty sure he should be in charge. Luckily, Amy knew horse tricks, and she knew how to assert dominance and keep it. In their tiny herd of two, Voltaire understood that while his opinion would be considered… Amy was the leader.

 

Yes. Today was a good day.

 

…And then she noticed Krem standing in the path towards the gate.

 

 _‘Braska.’_ She thought.

 

He hadn’t seen her yet.

 

She let out a breath looking to her left.

 

…And found Dalish and Grim watching her in that direction.

 

Wait… was this..?

 

A quick glance to the right, and oh. Yeah. There was Rocky and Stitches walking towards her.

 

A half turn back, and Skinner stood there were her arms crossed.

 

It _was_ an ambush.

 

“Well, I guess this prove that you’re avoiding us.” She heard Krem’s voice, and it was much closer than she’d expected. She wondered absently how a warrior in so much armor could move so quickly without a sound… practice, she supposed.

 

“Not a’voidin’.” Amy defended, picking at the inside of her cloak. “Just busy.” She could’ve maintained eye-contact, but the tiny fuz rolls inside the fabric was really greeting on her.

 

She didn’t see Krem look about at the Charger and tick his head towards the Tavern. She did notice when everyone but Krem shuffled away.

 

“Did the Chief do something?” Krim asked. “He can be a big idiot, but he usually means well.”

 

Amy stared at Krem before letting out a nearly silent sigh. There was no point in being dishonest. Especially when there was no denying it. Still, she didn’t want to disparage Bull’s authority among the Charger any more than she wanted to appear dismissive towards Cullen’s office among the soldiers. You didn’t come between a man and those he commanded. It just wasn’t done.

 

If this were the dojo, and the conflict were serious enough, challenges would be issued and the match would settle the dispute. Not so much who was right or wrong… but more the ability to show off technique and work out aggression.

 

“He thinks I’m crazy.” She said at last. Krem’s brow peaked, confusion rampant about his face.

 

“No he doesn’t.” He contested. “None of us do.”

 

“Then I guess he thinks I’m a liar.” Amy grumbled. Krem still looked shocked and confused. “I told. Told him.”

 

“Told him what?”

 

“‘Bout me.” Amy suddenly felt depression creep in. She refused to let it turn her day. It _was going_ to be a good. Day. “Told him where I’m from. He doesn’t believe.” She shrugged, her movement jerky. She wanted to let it go like Elsa, but she was still a little peeved about it.

 

“Huh…” Krem’s response was neutral, but still confused. “It’s just…odd. He’s been off lately. Distracted, sort of. But he still defends you if any of the soldiers say things that are out of line.”

 

Amy cocked her head to the side.

 

“Soldiers?” she hadn’t really interacted with the soldiers very much. I twas something that didn’t add up to her…

 

Krem snorted. “You had a reputation _before_ you kicked the Chief in the face. Then you did that, and everyone had to have an opinion.”

 

Amy recoiled slightly. She’d been put through the Inquisition’s rumor mill? …Horror of horrors.

 

She couldn’t even imagine what they thought they had to talk about. Then again, men were men. The ones she knew would gossip and carry on like hens in a hen house. The worst part of it was that men tended to be a little more…vulgar with their gossip. It was like they thought they had to outdo their buddies or something.

 

“That face you’re making?” Krem said, making a circulation motion towards her face with a nod. “That’s how we feel as well.” He shook his head. “When it comes to a grown group of men, most of the talk concerning women is..” Krim visibly grimaced, as though he was fighting against the urge to grit his teeth and snarl. “Unsavory, at best.” He drew his shoulders back. “Chief doesn’t let that happen with the Chargers, or anyone within earshot.”

 

No one needed to tell Amy about how revolting ‘guy talk’ could get between a bunch of guys jockeying for position in a fighting regime. That sort of talk wasn’t permitted at the dojo either. Not just because she was there, but because her father wouldn’t accept it… There were higher ideals to focus on, and besides… lawsuits were a thing. What always surprised her was how such a conversation was considered normal among those who propagated it. Honestly. Didn’t they have better things to discuss?

 

“If anything, Chief’s gotten more protective of you… I thought maybe you and he had…” Krem let that sentence trail off, and Amy quickly shook her head. “But…he doesn’t believe you.” Amy nodded and Krem sighed. “That’s almost worse.” He grumbled.

 

There was a beat of silence as they both looked anywhere but at each other.

 

“Need to talk to mages.” She murmured, attempting to walk around Krem.

 

“I’ll walk you there.” Krem offered. Amy was about to assure him that she could walk just fine on her own. “Think about it. Still being close to me will really creep under the Chief’s skin.”

 

…Oh.

 

She laughed, because what else do you do?

 

It was just… petty.

 

Playing at jealousy?

 

That was unworthy of them.

 

…..

 

She really wanted to do it.

 

“If you want.” She relented.

 

Krem smirked, falling into step beside her and matching her pace. “I don’t suppose you want to tell me what you told the Chief?” She stared at him, baffled. “About where you’re from.”

 

She shook her head, still gun-shy. “Nope.” She was grateful when Krem only nodded. “Lend a lady your arm.” She instructed, and Krem grinned as she took his arm. They continued from the stables, and Amy _felt_ the silence grow tense.

 

“So.. Chief says that you know everything.” Krem said. “When he came in a few nights ago, he was still a little drunk, and he said that…”

 

“Don’t know _every_ thing.” Amy corrected. Another few steps through this silence.

 

“But… you know about me.”

 

…Oh.

 

Was that what was bothering him?

 

“I know you, Krem.” She said with asoft smile. “I see you. Krem. Cremisius. Taylor son. Bull’s best man.” She met his eyes. “Krem is Krem.” She let her cheek rest against his bicep, ignoring the bite of cold.

 

It was shocking how quickly the mood could change. She hadn’t realized that he was tense until she felt his body relax, his breath seep out as relief seeped in.

 

“Good.” He cleared his throat, incapable of responding because _how_? How does one even respond to something so earth-shatteringly complex after it’s been rendered into such a simple response. He nodded with an aborted breathy laugh. “Yeah.”

 

There wasn’t that much distance to the Mage’s tent, but Amy felt immensely satisfied that everything that needed to be said had been.

 

As they neared the Mage’s tent, Amy spotted Elossa and Bax. They were hovering just outside the edge of the tent, as per usual.

 

Bax, or Baxtien (pronounced Bax-jhen, instead of how it was spelled) Bermund, was the dark-haired mage with regretfully aggressive facial hair. He shaved every morning, but evidently his beard was serious about protecting his face in this cold environment. He always had the beginnings of a five o’clock shadow around 11 in the morning. Ridiculous, really.

 

But somehow, he’d become one of her mage buddies. He’d always been watching her, and she’d assumed there had been some resentment in that. Ever since she’d kicked Bull in the face, he would approach her every time she’d visited them. For whatever reason, he was more interested in talking to her… honestly. He was honestly curious about her.

 

She knew they’d be buds after she started singing that song ‘Shut Up and Dance’ by Walk the Moon, and he’d actually started to dance with her. Nothing dramatic, or anything. He just swayed in place and then twirled her around.

 

Amy had learned that there were a grand total of 28 mages that regularly hovered in that very large-but always so crowded tent. Of those 28, she’d personally come to know Elossa, Bax, Macie, Jarred, and Norton…

 

And, well, Siheta. Amy didn’t really think she _knew_ Siheta. She didn’t think _anyone_ knew Siheta… it was more that Siheta stood out. And not just because she was a Qunari (Vashoth) mage, but because she was Siheta Adaar.

 

She knew Siheta wasn’t the Herald….Which made Amy think that others had to be around as well. Maybe she’d find a Lavellan or a Cadash….Maybe. The idea that they could exist, that they could’ve survived… for some reason, it made her hopeful.

 

As for the others she knew, Norton was older, and most of the others looked to him as a de-facto leader. He sounded and looked a lot like the mage in the cinematic of the riot in front of the chantry between the Templar and Mage who were blaming each other over the Divine’s death….only he had more hair. Then again, who knows how long it had been since that had happened.

 

Elossa, Macie, and Bax were her friends.

 

Jarred wasn’t Jarred. He was Snot. That was his new name. Not because of anything good, like the character from American Dad. No. It’s what she called him all the time… because he had the snottiest attitude.

 

Today, she was surprised to see Bax turn around and wave vaguely at someone inside the tent. Norton and Macie along with a few others drew closer to Elossa and Bax…. Huh. It wasn’t unusual for some of the other mages to interact with her when she visited… they just never seemed to coordinate the effort.

 

…And Dalish and Rockey were there. Wait, what?

 

“Ah. Charmer.” Norton began. It was obvious that the nickname had stuck. Yes…Yes, good. Varric would be so pleased with himself. “Your friends here have been telling me of this plan of yours.”

 

Amy blinked, looking between Dalish, Rocky, and Krem. They seemed horribly smug with themselves. She stared at Krem.

 

“You’re gonna have a hard enough time getting Ser Jackboot’s cooperation.” Krem said, a weak excuse if ever there was one…. Still. It cut through some of her ground work.

 

“I think your’s is a fine idea; and, I have several people who will be more than willing to help.” Norton said with a smile.

 

Sometimes, if Amy squinted just right, she could pretend that Norton was a silver-bearded Papa Malcolm Hawke. Not because he was strikingly like Garret or even like what she’d read of the famous Hawke patriarch….it was mostly just because his eyes seemed like they had seen much-too-much and yet they were _so_ kind, and he had the shaggy hair and beard…even if it was, nearly all of it, white.

 

“Please?” Amy nearly squeaked, causing a ripple of chuckles from those around her. Except for Snot….who was here, volunteering, and yet still so snotty about it.

 

“You’re trying to help.” Macie said with her tiny voice, and her tiny smile and her tiny, adorable face, Buddah on a Bike, she was too damn cute. She was keeping her long, straight mahogany hair out of it’s usual tie, and it looked fantastic around her adorable little face.

 

Wait, was she still talking? It was definitely time to refocus.

 

“The only time we really get to do anything at all is when someone gets hurt.” Macie was saying. Oh good. She hadn’t missed anything. “Then, the closest healer is summoned out on the field.”

 

“For the most part, all we get to do is stand out here and stare.” Bax seconded.

 

That was a necessary function. The healing, that is. Wherever there were men training, there were men doing something stupid and getting hurt. She didn’t want to detract from that…

 

“How many healers?” Amy asked.

 

“Self including,” Norton began. “Five.” Amy blinked, momentarily boggled at the ratio of healers to people that would need healing. This plan to keep the soldiers vital and hale was suddenly more important than the simple whim it had begun as. “That isn’t to say that there aren’t a number of others who _can_ heal…however…”

 

“I wasn’t trained in any circle.” Elossa stepped in, explaining the issue that Norton was trying not to address. “For that matter, Macie can heal but she doesn’t _specialize_ in it.”

 

“Myself, Norton, Scarlett, Abigail, and Colbern have completed circle training for healers.” Bax elaborated. “I know that Elossa can heal along with Giles, Tobias, Arini, and I think Siheta.” He shrugged. “But, from what I understand, a lot of the “soldiers” don’t feel comfortable being healed by a mage if they aren’t circle certified.”

 

“Re-dik-lus.” Amy spat. Bax nodded. He wasn’t the only one.

 

“What about you?” Elossa asked Dalish.

 

“Not a mage!” Amy crowed, trying to do an impression of Dalish from the Charger’s cinematic.

 

Bax stared between Dalish and Amy. “But…she carries a staff.”

 

“It’s a _bow._ ” Dalish said. Krem and Rocky were softly laughing— the kind of laughter that shakes you more than it makes noise.

 

“But… but the crystal—”

 

“S’for _aim_ ing!” Amy said smugly.

 

“Yes!” Dalish piped up, her hands forming tiny fists against her hips. “An old elven trick you wouldn’t understand.” Amy couldn’t help it. She giggled, because that’s what she always did when Dalish did her ‘not a mage!’ bit. But with the added benefit of Bax and Elossa’s confusion.

 

“What…what is happening right in front of me?” Bax asked the air above his head in general confusion.

 

Amy patted his elbow. “Inside joke.”

 

“Yeah, well, we’re outside.” Macie reminded. “Not inside. And it’s fucking cold.”

 

The problem for Macie was that it didn’t really matter what she did with her life and her choices… she was curvy and adorable and petite. She could probably kill someone with her brain, but it would be the cutest death that anyone ever experienced.

 

“Stitches in charge of keeping Chargers charged.” Amy clarified, waving Macie’s adorable indignation off.

 

“Anyway.” Bax said. It was a common phrase of his that said usually was made in order to stop the madness and reorient the train of thought back onto the tracks of logic. “I would trust any of the people that I’ve mentioned to heal me… but… that doesn’t mean that they’re all allowed to do it… I suppose if there were some dire emergency.”

 

“Aren’t most emergencies dire?” Rocky asked. Amy pointed at him and nodded. Bax looked quietly disgruntled. Like the portrait of Erasmus’s face…. Oh, Erasmus.

 

“All of that being said…” Now it was Norton’s turn to try and stem the tide of madness. “You will have the support of the Inquisition’s Mages.”

 

Amy could’ve teared up…but crying was something that a woman could not do in public. The world would fall apart. So, she nodded and said, “Thank you.” With as strong of a voice as she could manage.

 

“Now all that’s left…” Rocky eyed the line up of soldiers. “I hope you have a plan.” He grunted in Amy’s general direction.

 

Amy took a deep breath to steady herself.

 

“You sure about this?” Bax asked, even though she hadn’t told him anything about her vague-ass plans.

 

“Do the difficult things while they are easy and do the great things while they are small.” She murmured. “The journey of a thousand miles must begin with a single step.”

 

And with that bit of wisdom from Lao Tzu, she drifted away from Krem and the Mages tent to stand at the edge of Neutral Road. It was time to employ the strictest and most difficult of disciplines… It was time to wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaannd....more waiting. Joy. Sorry guys, but it feels like a lot didn't happen in this chapter in spite of the word count... And just like the title says, it's...more waiting this time. 
> 
> In other news, uh... I'm ... I'm doing a project in my Sociology class in which we study an aspect of culture...and I decided to do a photo essay on members of the Dragon Age community who write fanfiction, draw fan art, and do cosplay... So... if anyone doesn't mind an interview, I'd be really appreciative :)


	10. Don't Shoot the Messenger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's kinda long, you guys. I honestly feel bad that this wasn't finished sooner -..-' Over spring break I drove 14 hours to Michigan, got sick on the way, lost my voice for 4 days, and am STILL battling a soar throat.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!

Standing in the middle of Neutral Road was not hard. It wasn’t like there were wagon trains or caravans filled to the brim with exports and imports to be mindful of. In fact, it was usually empty. It served as nothing more than a boundary.

 

Waiting was not hard. Meditation had always been a constant in Amy’s life. It helped her quiet herself and find her center. Lao Tzu once said, “By letting it go it all gets done. The world is won by those who let it go. But when you try and try. The world is beyond the winning.”…. So. Elsa had the right idea.

 

The hard part… was the wind.

 

It was really. Freakin. Cold.

 

…Did Lao Tzu have anything to say about the cold?

 

She couldn’t remember one specifically.

 

But, you could liken the snow to a form of water. He had a quote about water…. What was it?

 

Oh. Right.

 

“Nothing is softer or more flexible than water, yet nothing can resist it.”

 

…It didn’t quite fit. It was still true. Water wore away wood, earth, and stone. But snow and ice preserved… It was still impossible to resist without aid, but it had an opposite effect.

 

…Well. That tangent lasted all of fifteen seconds.

 

Which wasn’t to say that she hadn’t ‘accomplished’ anything.

 

Just by standing here she’d caught the attention of the four intermediate groups. The men practicing their drills were trying not to pay attention to her. The men “tending to weapons” were staring, though. So were the runners and officers. Each of the officers looked to each other too. It was amusing to watch their exchange of, ‘um… are you gonna deal with that? No? ….do I have to…? …Well shit.’.

 

They were still shifting around all uneasy-like when Amy felt a noticeable change in temperature.

 

The wind wasn’t whipping at her the way it had been only seconds ago.She turned and found Bax standing a few paces behind her… Just at the edge of the Mage’s side of Neutral Road. He smiled at her and she smiled back before turning and resuming her post.

 

One of the closer officers let out a long sigh, bit something out in the general direction of his men, and started walking towards her.

 

“After noon.” Amy greeted, earning a begrudging smirk.

 

“Afternoon.” He said. His armor was relatively simple. It was obviously of Inquisition make, but looked less like leather and mail and had more plate pieces. Still. It didn’t look overly fancy. “Is there something I can help you with?”

 

“Need to send a message to Commander.” Amy reported.

 

“A message?”

 

Amy nodded. “Mother Giselle, Adan, and Flissa waiting in Chantry for him.”

 

He blinked at that, his mouth flattening into a thin line. He looked back towards the men under his office. He jutted out his chin in a nod to his runner. The man jogged over and the officer reiterated her request. The runner looked between them, obviously slightly confused until his officer grunted out ‘Well?’. Then the runner sprinted away.

 

“Thank you.” Amy said with a slight bow.

 

At the dojo, bowing was done according to rank. She had no idea what this man’s rank was, but a slight bow was certainly better than a mere nod….and judging by the smile he was suppressing (or trying to), she’d judged adequately.

 

He gave her a nod with a strangely satisfied ‘ma’am’ before returning to his post. She tried not to grin as she noticed him trading nods with the other officers. It was like he was posturing or something. Like ‘huh. Yeah. I got this.’. Men could be so strange.

 

“So, we just stand here and wait?” Macie’s voice nearly made Amy jump.

 

“I know that’s not a normal practice for you, Mace.” Elossa snarked.

 

“Mace.” Bax let out an abrupt chuckle. “That’s a perfect nickname for you. You don’t need to be a huge war hammer. But you’re perfectly capable and more than willing to bash someone’s face in.”

 

Macie smirked in that ‘I’m cute but a psycho’ way. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.” She cooed.

 

“It’s not cold.” Amy observed off handedly. “Why’s it not cold?”

 

“Bax is running damage control.” Elossa informed. “He connects very well with fire magic, and his barriers are pretty spectacular, and he’s—”

 

“Standing right here.” Bax grumbled, though it lacked venom.

 

“Yeah, yeah, we know.” Macie said on a snort. “It hurts to be the teacher’s pet when there’s no teacher around.” She sighed at length and then silence prevailed save the sound of the whipping wind. “So! W _ait_ ing.”

 

“Nature does not hurry, yet everything is accomplished.” Amy said in an attempt to soothe.

 

“You’ve gotten much better at pronouncing things.”

 

“S’a quote.” Amy informed. “Those’re ezzz…eeazier.”

 

“Why do you suppose that is?” Bax asked.

 

Amy shrugged. “Singin’s easiessst. Words wit flow.”

 

“Singing a song is the easiest way to remember things.” Bax admitted with a nod.

 

“Quotes are… other words. Words I know but not mine.” Amy shrugged again.

 

“So it’s harder to make your own words.” Macie murmured, sounding lost in sympathy.

 

“So who said that?” Bax asked.

 

“What?” Elossa’s voice sounded so shocked.

 

“Who’s words were those? The things about nature?” Bax clarified.

 

“Heads up.” Macie grumbled, suddenly standing straighter. Not that it did her much good. She couldn’t stretch past her normal 4 ft 8. “We gots us a templar.”

 

Amy had noticed him too. She had thought it was possible for a templar response to her vigil, but she’d hoped that Cullen would respond directly. Still…there was little she could do until she was certain that Cullen had the message.

 

This templar was Templar Tight-Laces… Because he was always cross and tightly drawn. He looked and sounded an awful lot like the templar from the chantry scene, that she figured had opposed Norton. Of all the templars that could’ve showed up, he was at the bottom of her list. She thought his name was Kayden…but she could be wrong.

 

There were five Templars that Amy had counted—and that was a ratio that made her very uncomfortable. Twenty-eight mages to five templars? It probably wasn’t any wonder that the Templars were all twitchy.

 

The oldest and most senior Templar, and the one that the others looked to aside from Cullen, was Evard.

 

Of course, there was also Lysette…who looked an awful lot like Emily Prentiss from Criminal Minds. Amy hadn’t had the chance to speak to her very much personally.

 

There was also a Templar called Wess… and he was the exact opposite of Kayden. If there were stereotypes, then Wess was the naughty Templar. The one that probably was orphaned, taken in by the chantry, trained by the Templars, and part of the order whether he wanted it or not.

 

There was only one other Templar she knew of…but she hadn’t really talked to him. She was pretty certain that his name started with a C or a K… Claud? Klaus?…. No wait… Klaus was the German man-fish from American Dad.

 

“What is your message?” Ah, Kayden the tight-laced Templar was here now.

 

“Message for Commander.” Amy said simply.

 

“Yes. What’s your message?” Less of a question now, more of a demand.

 

She tilted her head to the side, like a curious mabari. He glared at her, his fists clenching at his sides.

 

So many questions. Did the runner deliver the message to Kayden instead of Cullen? Had he not delivered the _full_ message? Why did Kayden feel the need to micro-manage? Was this policy? Did Cullen set it up this way? Did Evard?

 

“I am more than capable of delivering your message.” 

 

“I was unaware that messages for the Commander of the Inquisition’s forces were to be intercepted.” The crisp tone was out of place not just because of it’s empirical tone… but because Amy was pretty damn sure she hadn’t even seen Solas at any point today. She slowly turned to her left, still rotating her head… she wondered if it looked anything like when Stewie Griffin did it.

 

Again.

 

So. Many. Questions.

 

As always, the first and foremost was always going to be ‘Why??’. Why was Solas here? Not just in the grand sense, but right here right now.

 

Given this scenario… It was bad enough that Elossa, Bax, and Macie were standing with her. With an untouchable mage from the inner circle poking about and asking questions, this already tense Templar was bound to only become more agitated….

 

The real question was, how much agency did any of them assume they had?

 

“The Commander is very _very_ busy.” Kayden informed, his tone slow as though he were speaking to children.

 

Oh. Oh, that wasn’t going to work well on Solas. Amy felt herself tense up when she saw Solas’s eyes narrow.

 

“Commander needed chantry.” Amy rushed. Kayden blinked at her, and Amy tried again. “Commander needed _in_ chantry.” Amy ignored the thinning of Solas’s lips. She had no idea what irked him… she still had no idea why he was even here.

 

“That doesn’t even seem like an overly taxing request, now does it?” This came from a completely impossible source. Amy turned slowly and adjusted her eye line…. But yes, there stood a very grouchy Varric Tethras just on the other side of Solas.

 

“Varric!” Amy’s tone a shocked gasp. “Sun is up! You’re here?” she was only a little tickled to hear Solas chuckle at this.

 

“That’s cute, Charmer.” Varric Grumbled, squeezing his eyes shut before opening them in little slights.

 

Amy wondered if the light bothered his eyes. There was an awful lot of snow about, and it was all reflecting the light in the most gruesome ways. It’d taken her forever to adjust to it properly…and even now, it could be harsh.

 

“As I’ve said, the Commander is very busy—”

 

“Then.” Amy said, cutting off whatever brilliant and most likely cuttingly offensive thing Kayden was about to say. “I wait his pleasure.”

 

Kayden actually rolled his eyes. “So you intend to just…wait here.”

 

“To the mind that is still, the whole universe surrenders.” Amy soothed. It caused a few stares.

 

“You know very much for one so young.” Solas observed in the most clinical way possible, which meant he was probably suspicious as fuck.

 

“I like to listen. I have learned a great deal from listening carefully.” Amy sighed, her expression sobering. “Most people never listen.”

 

“That doesn’t sound like the same person.” Bax said.

 

“Z’not.” Amy confirmed. “S’Hemingway.”

 

“And who was the other?” Elosa asked.

 

“Lao Tzu.” Solas and Varric both scrunched up in confusion at that.

 

“Those sound like very different people.” Bax observed.

 

“Are.” Amy said with a nod. She smiled softly as she spotted a familiar fluffy cloak coming their way. “Very different.” She met Kayden’s eye. “Thank you. Kay. Den.”

 

“I… ah. You’re welcome.” Kayden had no idea. He was so offset by Amy’s sincerity that he didn’t know what he should do next. So, he stared at them in confusion until Cullen was actually upon them.

 

“Why does it look like a delegation is standing in protest here?” Cullen asked, and Kayden froze rigidly in an attempt to hide his startled reaction.

 

“Waiting.” Amy said simply.

 

“I can see that.” Cullen said, looking between Varric and Solas. “But what for?”

 

“See you got your message.” Amy replied, and Cullen’s eyes stopped on her. He surveyed the group, including Kayden, before his gaze returned to her.

 

“What message?”

 

“Mother Giselle. Adan. and Flissa need you. In Chantry.” If she had to sacrifice cadence for accuracy, then that would be fine. Her sentences sounded choppy, but the words were still mostly sound.

 

Cullen blinked at her. “They need me to do something for them?”

 

“Need ….to consult. Keen strateeeegic mind. Unique insight.” Amy tried to repress the shiver that was clutching at her neck. It had nothing to do with the cold and everything to do with nerves. Cullen was rarely in a happy mood, but right now he seemed calculating.

 

Why was Cullen here with a full entourage? Evard was here with him along with two other soldiers. One of them had armor that look so fancy Amy was afraid to breathe to heavily around it. Also, Wess was here, but he was standing by Kayden with an ‘I told you so’ expression on his face.

 

Cullen said nothing to Kayden. He didn’t even acknowledge him… that was bad. Complete dismissal was a technique her father used when someone had done something, but they were all in public. It was better to maintain order and save face in front of everyone than to visit comeuppance upon someone who’d done something wrong right away. It didn’t mean the transgression wouldn’t be dealt with…but Kayden was going to have to sit and stew first.

 

…Kayden had no business intercepting Cullen’s message.

 

And he knew it. She could tell in the slight decline of his shoulders. It wasn’t a slouch, he just wasn’t standing at attention any longer. Amy almost felt sorry for him, but he did manage to get himself into these messes often.

 

“How long have they been waiting?” Cullen asked, his tone light but still edgy.

 

Amy took a moment to look up at the sun. “Not long. Needed to. Confer.” Amy’s eyes met Cullen’s. “Will stay and… wait… your pleasure, Commander.”

 

His eyebrows ticked up. “It appears I am called away, Gentlemen.” His voice raised and somehow harder. The way a man is when he addresses the men under him. “You have your orders.”

 

Amy stepped aside and bowed, bent at the waist. Her eyes were down, so she didn’t see the look Cullen gave her as he passed. It wasn’t concern or confusion as it had been many other times before. It was a mixture along with appraisal… he was considering her, not too unlike Bull did from time to time.

 

He had heard many rumors about her while among the men. Usually, this made him roll his eyes and shake his head. Certainly soldiers should have better persist than discussing outlandish rumors about a strange woman. Cullen usually felt irritation over the fact that no one was taking into account how horrible her circumstances were. But now… now he had to admit that she didn’t seem insane or touched or whatever it was he’d initially thought she was. He did not like anomalies. They could be dangerous.

 

Neither of them had time to consider it, mostly because Amy was unaware and Cullen was on his way out.

 

“Right. You lot, kindly return to your positions.” One of the older soldiers said. The one with the very nice, but still beaten to hell, armor.

 

His voice somewhat reminded Amy of her maternal grandfather… the one she never actually remembered seeing in person, but got birthday cards from. There had been very little between Amy and her mother’s parents… She’d been told that at some point the family had visited them in Derry-Londonderry when she’d been a toddler, but she didn’t remember it. She’d gotten a call from him and her grandmother the day she’d graduated college…. It had been uneventful. Her mother’s father had been an officer in the British Navy… and he’d _never_ forgiven his daughter for marrying not only a Catholic, but an Irish Catholic.

 

There was something in that voice that was staid and standoffish at the same time. It was quiet resistance. It didn’t matter what anyone did or said, this man was in charge and made decisions and that was final. Normally, that sort of dominance was soothing, but right now it was worrisome.

 

“Positions?” Solas asked. “Forgive me, but are we not allowed to move freely?” Solas’s tone always sounded rather neutral, unless you knew him. This wasn’t a simple question at all, it was a sort of challenge. The problem was, this Veteran knew it too.

 

“So long as they don’t disrupt the soldiers, yes… and I would say their presence is disruptive.” Here he stood straighter, his shoulder rolling back slightly as if to emphasize the sheer expanse of his chest. He point at Amy. “Especially that one.”

 

Amy blinked at him and then looked at the mages who were her friends as well as Varric and Solas. Of the people she was surrounded with, Solas and Varric would be much more interesting, surely. They were members of the inner circle, after all. She was just the daft little addled girl. What was there to bother with?

 

“Yes, you.” The Veteran confirmed. “I suppose you think you’re touched by the Maker as well.”

 

“I do not concern myself with gods and spirits either good or evil, nor do I serve any.” Thank you, Lao Tzu, for your grounding words of wisdom.

 

He heaved a bored sigh. “How very eloquent. So well put, so well taught. But you’re lessons aren’t wanted here, Ma’am.” He motioned to the men around them. “Everyone here is training to be efficient on an actual battle field. Your philosophy wont help that. At best, you’re a distraction and at the worst you’re a danger.”

 

For the entirety of her time here, she’d been trying to figure out how to best apply herself to her situation. She was skilled in many arenas, and teaching was something she could do, and do well… On the one hand, she had reasoned that no one would let her teach, combat or otherwise, because she had no credibility here. But to hear him say so callously that what she offered was useless… Amy swallowed, her throat suddenly tight and hot.

 

She should’ve known.

 

She did know.

 

She’d reasoned all that out already. There was no way she could pass on any of her practical knowledge here. They wouldn’t believe her or accept it. This was something she’d known… dammit, she couldn’t stop the throb through her chest. Why did it hurt so much to hear him say these things out loud?

 

There was really only one thing she didn’t understand.

 

“Danger?” Amy’s voice cracked just a tiny bit with worry.

 

“Yes. Danger!” The Veteran probably would’ve pressed closer to them, but he had clearly defined which territory was his so he couldn’t stray from it. “You traipse off for your little dances, singing your songs with all your kickin’ and twirlin’ in the snow,—”

 

Dances?? Amy felt her stomach twist with the beginnings of anxiety.

 

“—and the men here _sneak_ away to watch. ”

 

…. _what_??

 

“Maybe your soldiers should be taught how to focus better.” Varric growled.

 

His hackles were raised on Amy’s behalf… perhaps he thought she was squishy like Merrill or Bethany. She wasn’t. Yes. It hurt. Because she’d never danced…

 

… Wait… Was he talking about her exercise routine??

 

They thought she was _dancing_?

 

Amy felt her face burn in shame. She felt the anxiety bloat into a manifestation of utter embarrassment.

 

They thought she was dancing? Alone, in the snow, beyond even where the horses were?

 

Not only was her skill set worthless, but they had sought her out while she was alone…and they thought she was _dancing_.

 

Geh!

 

“And, to be quite frank, you distract the Commander constantly. That’s dangerous.”

 

In her mind, Amy remembered Cullen’s face each and every time she’d seen him out here on the field….. He’d always had a very pinched or aggravated expression, sometimes he looked so completely done… She’d assumed that was because he was the leader of large number of men who sometimes needed to be babysat.

 

…But really, was it… was it _her_??

 

Oh, Buddha… that meant the Commander of the Inquisition was also babysitting _her_.

 

Eeaagh… Mortification steeped up her spine and she grimaced.

 

Did she take him away from his work? The work he actually needed to do? She was taking him away from his post, she interfered with the soldier’s training routine, and he had to break away from actual responsibilities to deal with her….that _was_ dangerous!

 

The ground was not swallowing her up, and Coryphy-shit wasn’t going to be attacking any time soon(she hoped). She needed to retreat. Needed to set some things right. She had no place on this field and nothing to offer to make it better.

 

She’d brought herself onto this field, and by every god she didn’t believe in, she would take herself off of it.

 

“I… I’ll go.” She said, turning.

 

“Charmer.” Varric’s usually soothing voice was doing nothing to calm her growing distress.

 

“No. No. Never mind.” She said, waving a hand back but not breaking her pace.

 

“Amy.” This came from Bax who tried to lean into her as she passed. She just shookher head and continued on.

 

Honestly, there wasn’t a single reason she should stay on the field. She’d delivered her message. She’d done what she’d set out to do. If she wasn’t serving any purpose… anything other than…

 

She didn’t want to _be_ a distraction!

 

She wanted to be useful.

 

Helpful!

 

“I think you hurt her feelings.” She heard Wess’s nasally voice, which really only made her feel worse.

 

“If it keeps her safely off the field, then I say that’s a win.” The Veteran replied, his voice deep and yet brittle. Unmoved and unmoving.

 

He was very much like her mother’s father…. She felt so very judged.

 

She didn’t hustle back into Haven, because no one would hurry her unless she wanted to be hurried. Still, she got mixed up because she kept hearing the word ‘distraction’ repeat over and over in her mind.

 

She was nearly at the steps leading to the Chantry before she remembered that it was too early for her to check in for laundry.

 

..She could …report back to the tavern. Maybe see about setting up… something? Engh. Had she and Flissa talked about what she should do afterwards? She was certain they’d need some sort of help, even if it was with set-up or something.

 

She was yanked up by her hips before she could fully turn around, and the change in not only position but temperature made her head spin.

 

She squawked in shock until she realized that Bull had her by the hips again. Suspended under his arm and… with a few quick strides he had them inside one of the houses. With all the bedrolls and cots around…and all the clothing, weapons, and the distinct smell of soot, sweat, and booze it was probably where the Chargers stayed.

 

Well. Here she was….standing awkwardly in the room….and there Bull was….perching on the edge of a cot and eyeing her like… like she didn’t know what.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoo...this was a hard one. I really should be doing that research project, but eeeey... It'll keep :)


	11. Peanut Buter Solution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's favorite line is: What the ever-loving ice-cream-truck was he on about?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's sad, you guys. Like, it's really sad. But I promise you...it'll get better.... a little.
> 
> Maybe have tissues near by :| and, and not in public.

“Amy,” Bull’s voice was cajoling and yet Amy flinched in response...like a whip crack had somehow snapped through the air. “Can I get some eye contact here?” it was only half-humorous.

 

But Amy didn’t want to look at Bull. Because she felt small and insignificant and stupid. And Bull would see that, because Bull was good at seeing things… usually.

 

 _‘You are the daughter of Bridget McManus.’_ She felt her spine straighten. Clenching her teeth and expecting no great reward for her troubles, Amy’s eyes rose to meet Bull’s.

 

He was simultaneously encouraged and somber. “There you are.” He murmured.

 

Amy could help the tiny tug at the edge of her mouth when she saw the tiniest hint of relief filter into his voice.

 

“I’m sorry.” Her eyes darted back and forth, searching his face. He looked… forlorn. “I know this has been really hard on you.” He let out a self-depreciating chuckle. “It’s been nothing but shit for me.” He looked away, his eye narrowing in faux suspicion. “You’ll probably be happy to know that the majority of my merc team was willing to support you whole heartedly without even knowing what had happened between us.”

 

Amy tried to smile, but it just wasn’t working right.

 

The word ‘distraction’ continued to whisper at the edge of her consciousness over and over.

 

“I keep trying…” Bull took a breath and let it out. “I go over the things you said, and I try to reconcile….” He shook his head. “I can’t… I just.” His eye closed and his head tipped down. “I don’t know.”

 

Amy reached out and cradled the edge of his jaw in her palm. He leaned in, his cheek brushing coarsely against her hand. She had never minded the feel of stubble before, and she certainly didn’t give a shit now.

 

“I know you’re not a liar, and I know you’re not crazy… But the things you said.” He put his hand over hers, dwarfing her tiny pale hand in his own. “I just don’t know how to… to accept it.”

 

Honestly, at this point Amy wasn’t expecting him to accept what she’d told him. It was out of the bounds of anything he could’ve been trained for. He would need a hell of a lot of time for this.

 

“And I… I want to help.” He said, the words spilling out of him now. Amy got the impression that he had been bottling them all up for days and…well, in a manner of speaking, the cork had been popped.

 

“I wish I could give you what you need. If I knew what it was even, I’d… I’d try, but I don’t think I can.”

 

Amy felt her whole face ripple in sorrow.

 

It was touching, especially knowing what she knew about Bull’s character. Specifically that whole conversation about, _‘when it’s someone you care about, you give them what they_ need _’_.

 

In this moment, it didn’t matter if The Iron Bull could completely comprehend what she’d told him.

 

He wanted to know what she needed. Because she was important.

 

She covered her face with both hands. Clenched her teeth and tried to bow herself so that he couldn’t see her face, retreating back.

 

“Hey, now.” He caught her elbow and steered her back towards him. Her brought her into his torso, cradling her against himself. “Go ahead and let it out.”

 

“Nooo.” She moaned, forlorn. “Can’t.” She sniffed loudly, curling in on herself in an attempt to hide even against Bull’s massive form. “Women can’t…Women can’t cry in-in front of… anyone. World breaks.”

 

He held her to him, warm and solid and safe.

 

“I won’t break.”

 

Everything had been like damn-water, long iced over. Beneath the ice, the water had been churching and restless. Now, the damn was broken along with the ice, and there was no stopping it.

 

She sobbed and sniffled, tucking herself so tightly to Bull that she doubted anything short of another foci-related explosion would dislodge her.

 

Long moments passed before she quieted. Still hunched against Bull’s torso, his arms protectively wrapped around her as though she were a child fighting a nap.

 

“Ok.” Amy nearly winced at how wretched her voice sounded.

 

“Ok?”

 

“Is ok.” She said at last. She didn’t budge from her position…she was tired and comfortable.

 

“Amy…” Bull was obviously conflicted, but he forged ahead anyway. “It’s not ok. Nothing that’s happening is ok, whether it relates to you or not. It’s ok to not be ok.”

 

“No time for it.”

 

“Make. Time.” Bull grunted. “I’m gonna throw something out there, and I want you to seriously consider it.”

 

Amy blinked at the statement, but she was still too wrung out to move, so she didn’t.

 

“…It’s been months, right? And you haven’t… I mean, I know your scent hasn’t changed, at lest not in the way that it should.” Now, she was concerned. What the ever-loving ice-cream-truck was he on about? “It’s pretty obvious that you haven’t had a cycle since I first saw you, at least.”

 

Amy drew back slowly, glaring up at him balefully.

 

“Hear me out…” Bull entreated.

 

“Fuck you say??” There was equal parts confusion and anger in her response.

 

“I’m just sayin’, you can’t be in a great place right now.”

 

She smacked the shit out of his shoulder.

 

“…Ok, that stings, but we both know you could do worse.”

 

“Fuck you.” Amy growled low and feirce, flouncing hard against her grip. Mercifully he let her go, but only because he was certain he needed to. “Hor-hor-monal! Not! Not that! Not at all!” She paced back and forth, eyeing him like Darth Maul encaged in a forcefield.

 

“You don’t get! it! You… YOU!” she struck the wall, enjoying the rattle the planks made in reaction. “I never see family. Ever again!” Amy cried, her voice going shrill from all the pent up anguish.

 

“I divert. I distract my. Self! I say, ‘I miss pea nut but-ter. I miss rain! I miss air con..condition. I miss Kroger!’” Amy was panting, and she hated the tears of hurt and frustration and sorrow that refused to hold their position. She shook her head, trying to shake them off, because everything she’d mentioned was arbitrary. It wasn’t what made her so melancholy. "Fucking! Peanut! Butter!"

 

“I miss my brothers!” She hated the tiny, plaintive wail that ended on that cry. It sounded weak and simpering and childish. “I miss my…my con-trolling mother. My goofy bear father. I miss Jamie and Riiich-ard! I miss seeing… all four Patrick McManuses.” Her voice broke and strangled off. She would never see her grandfather, her father, her brother, and her brother's son again...

 

Amy’s chest heaved, her shoulders hunched, her spine bent because it was all so heavy and now she couldn’t stop thinking of the weight of it.

 

“I will never… I will never mehh…med-eee-ate between Connor and Pat. Never give little Pat another…lullaby. Never see my niece born.”

 

With a ragged cried of anguish she struck out, her tiny wrists caught up in one of Bull’s hands. He pulled her close again and clutched her so tightly to him that she could barely move against him.

 

She tried. Tried to thrash as she bellowed and swore.

 

“I’ve got you.” Bull was saying, which was both soothing and irritating. “If you need to fight, that’s ok. I can take it.”

 

And on top of all the throbbing ache down the center of her chest there was some added guilt. She was better than fit pitching, wasn’t she? She didn’t use violence as an answer to every resistance, and she had no right to try and strike at Bull for…for…

 

…for loosing her entire way of life and everyone she cared about, only to be put here in this place where no one considered her as much of a person.

 

“Was done. Done crying!” Amy wailed.

 

“You weren’t.” Bull corrected. “You just wanted to be.”The statement would have been grating if Amy would have been in any state towards rational.

 

As it was, she just cried. Cried as Bull held her. He rocked slow, occasionally rubbing her back or patting her hair. She wishedthat it would just be over. But Bull was right. It couldn’t be over until it was over. Grieving wasn’t the sort of thing that you could put on a time table.

 

She had lost her entire world, and inherited the heartbreak of knowing her loved ones were probably mourning her as well.

 

It felt like hours before she finally quieted and her sobs turned to sniffles turned to steady breaths.

 

She tried to wipe her face against her forearms, since Bull was technically still pinning her wrists together.

 

“Gross.” She grunted with a huffy little laugh.

 

Bull released her wrists and brushed damp strands of her hair off her forehead. “Better?” Amy shrugged. “Ey.” He grunted, and she sniffed loudly and let her head lull against his collarbone.

 

“Maybe.” She said. She felt… “Feel. still.”

 

“Still is good.” Bull said with a soft smile. “It’s better than jumbled any day.”

 

He surveyed her, a touch on the smug side that she didn’t look like she wanted to move any time soon.

 

Amy tensed slightly when Bull shifted, but she relaxed almost instantly when she realized what he was doing. He forked his arm under her knees and then carried her closer to the hearth.

 

He sat down again and took a cloth from the water that was warmed by the fire and began dabbing just under her eyes. She closed them, and Bull was once again both smug and moved by the blatant display of trust.

 

Something about it warmed him in a decided not ‘sex’ way, but he was going to attribute that to being near the fire.

 

“Cried a lot.” She murmured when he finally sat the rag down.

 

“I dunno, Charmer. Someone going through everything you’re going through…. There’s bound to be baggage.”

 

Amy shrugged again. “Time zit?”

 

Bull pretended to glare at her. “You and your obsession with time. We’re barely approaching the noon bell.”

 

Amy rocked forward, her eyes wide and her eyebrows high. “Hour?”

 

“Barely that.”

 

“S’a time Bull. Long time.” Amy protested, trying to stand up. She stumbled a bit on the first try, feeling her inertia as her blood pressure surged and boxed her ears. Bull was only to happy to steady her though.

 

“It’s been forty minutes at the most.” Bull argued.

 

“I need to check.” Amy said, patting herself down as if to make sure everything was in place. “Flissa could be free.”

 

“She isn’t. I told the boys to keep watch for me. They were to alert me if anything urgent came up or if—”

 

With either the best timing, or the worst, Krem popped in looking like he’d just rushed from somewhere. He instantly slowed to a halt and surveyed Amy.

 

“Alright, Charmer?”

 

Amy shrugged.

 

“I take it their meeting is over?” Bull asked, rising.

 

“No. I mean, nearly. They’re looking for you though, Boss. Need to see you about something.” Krem said.

 

Bull’s eye narrowed and he stared at the slats of board that made up the walls dazedly. Amy almost wanted to stick her tongue out at him in petulant smugness. He clearly hadn’t been expecting _that_ , now had he? Ben-hass-hole.

 

“They need to see you too, Charmer.” Krem said, and that made Amy turn so quickly she had whiplash.

 

“Me??” He nodded, and she looked to Bull in confusion.

 

“Well… I guess we’re going the same way.” Bull said, offering Amy his arm.

 

She stared at his elbow, hand hesitantly drifting to tuck itself away in the crook of his arm.

 

Why in all of Thedas would they need to speak to _her_??

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .... see? It got a little better... :) And then she got summoned o..o'
> 
> but, I mean, like, how bad could that be :D..... :| .... -_-


	12. Captain Charmer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG, it's so long, you guys. Damn if shit don't get done in this chapter. And it's fantastic. At least I think so. I'll let you judge. It's whatever.

The Chantry always seemed somewhat foreboding to Amy. It wasn’t because of the churning neon hole in the sky or the chanting fanatics which had begun to gather in mass (who, quite frankly, had always irritated Amy on every play-through).

 

It was just… the grandiose nature of it. All this pomp, and for what?

 

What it represented was not hope and succor or anything that someone who associated religion with positive qualities might see. Not for Amy at least.

 

She saw a faceless institution spouting its rigid guidelines and not caring about who met the mark and who didn’t… just like most religions she knew. 

 

The sanctuary seemed much more yawning now. She wondered if it was because of their purpose or because she felt dwarfed by Bull. It was hard to ignore how enormous their surroundings were when she felt so small.

 

She tensed when Bull steered her towards the war room, and then promptly deflated when he was waved into the offshoot room that was Josephine’s office.

 

And everyone was there.

 

Just.

 

Everyone.

 

Flissa flittered to Amy’s side. “Great news! Great news all around.” She cheered in a hushed whisper. “The idea was received, and welcomed by everyone unanimously.”

 

“Fan. Tas. Tic.” Amy whispered back, wishing she could infuse her words with as much energy as Flissa. She was far too nervous to be cheerful. She and Bull came to a stop, and Amy was closest to Flissa. She wanted to ask, 'why am I here then??', but...well. That would probably be cleared up shortly.

 

So many people were crowding this room. And they all had looks about them. On the other side of Bull was Varric who looked bored. Followed by Blackwall who looked resentful as hell. Then there was Cullen who looked resigned. And…and Not-Dean Winchester.

 

He was just there between Cullen and Josephine. One arm around his middle and his other hand scratching his chin. His eyes met Amy’s and he looked… guilty. Amy noticed that he flexed and clenched his left hand which sparked green even through the brown leather glove, and then he shifted it behind his back.

 

Her expression morphed instantly. Her eyes rounded, her brow peaked and her mouth held just slightly agape. The sadness that seeped out from her throat was palpable. 

 

Of course.

 

 _He_ was the Inquisitor.

 

It explained his erratic schedule at the tavern and all the binge drinking. Not to mention how easy it was for him to integrate with the inner circle while it was happy hour. Even some of the regular drinkers were sometimes put off by the Chargers.

 

And, hell… The mark was a horrible thing for anyone. She certainly wouldn’t have wanted to see it on Siheta or this world’s Lavellan or Cadash, but…

 

She and Not-Dean hadn’t gotten off to the best start, she’d admit that much, but… Hell. He had taken all her flack in stride and adapted his behavior to be less of a cad. These days, he was a right sweetheart.

 

His eyes flickered, his eyebrows twitching in curiosity. Amy lowered her eyes, trying not to cry.

 

It was the main reason she’d been so reluctant to just let herself cry before Bull _made_ her do it. Once the flood gates were open, the least little thing could set her off. At least, until she got her sea legs under her proper.

 

Focus.

 

The room. Who else was in the room?

 

So. On the other side of Not-Dean-The-Inquisitor was Josephine, looking relatively cool and nonplussed.

 

Amy hadn’t seen _much_ of her really, but what few glimpses she had gotten were… off putting.

 

Not in the way that Josephine was not like her character in the game though. Moreso that… Amy was straight. But Josephine was just… it went beyond beauty. She was captivating.

 

On the other side of Josephine was Cassandra who looked aloof. The Seeker probably felt like she had better places to be… She probably _did_ have better places to be.

 

Then, there was Leliana who looked at once innocent, covert and suspicious, because she _always_ did look covert no matter what.

 

Next to Leliana was Solas….who looked like Solas. Was there really any other descriptor needed?

 

Next to Solas was Sera, who looked pretty pissy. Amy didn’t know if that was because she was between Solas and Mother Giselle or because of whatever they were discussing.

 

Anyway, on the other side of Sera was Mother Giselle. She looked relatively pleased. And then there was Adan who looked grumpy because he was Adan, and even being beside Flissa wouldn’t cheer him up.

 

That was the whole room.

 

So, no Vivienne or Dorian or Cole yet. Something about that soothed her.

 

….Amy was suddenly grateful that Minaeve wasn’t about. The room had seemed rather large before, but that was probably before you tried to fit _this many_ people in here. Most of them were not small either.

 

“For the record,” Blackwall began. “I’d just like to say that I feel all of this is unnecessary.” Cullen sighed at that and Not-Dean-Inquisitor gave him a look that read as ‘I feel ya, bra’.

 

“Your opinions are duly noted.” Leliana said in a tone that informed him without any aplomb that his statement didn’t influence the proceedings.

 

“All right, Nightingale, we’ve all relocated. You wanna fill Charmer in so we can get this party started?” Varric began.

 

Amy was grateful for his easy-going nature. She'd felt a bit like Poe Dameron, wondering who speaks first.

 

“Your nicknames are so clever, Varric.” Leliana said with a smile, and by Varric’s face Amy could tell her words were not as complimentary as they sounded. Leliana’s eyes turned on Amy. She seemed so benign…which meant that Amy needed to mind her shit. “It has come to our attention that this new policy concerning the soldiers is, in fact, your plan.”

 

Amy blinked and cocked her head to the side. She waited. And she waited. Because she wasn’t about to jump in with information when she wasn’t even sure of what she was being accused.

 

Leliana waited another beat before saying, “Might I ask what it is you were hoping to feed our soldiers?”

 

Amy’s head ticked farther to the side. She wouldn’t be surprised at this point if the top of her head were skimming against Bull’s bicep at this point.

 

“Don't know.”

 

“You don’t know?”

 

“Not my res… not my drink.” She looked to her right. “Adan. Flissa. Put heads together. Get something.” She shrugged.

 

“So it wouldn’t be a drink that you’re familiar with making.” Leliana clarified.

 

“Want soldiers to stand.” Amy said with a soft huff. “My drinks…knock ‘em out.”

 

Varric, Blackwall, Sera, and Bull were smirking at that. Even Not-Dean looked like he was in on a private joke, but he put a lid on it quickly.

 

“And how is it you could estimate the number of soldiers Commander Cullen had out on the field?” Leliana continued, and at this question Cullen’s attention sharped from the papers in his hand to Amy.

 

Amy shrugged. “Have eyes.”

 

“You… _counted_ them?” Cullen asked.

 

“No. Es. Estim.” Amy sighed and clenched her teeth. “Es. Tim. Ated. Is numbers.”

 

“And on what did you base your estimations?” this was from Cassandra.

 

“Groups. Terrain.” Amy shrugged. “Is easy.”

 

“If it is so easy, then you won’t have any problem taking us through this process.” Leliana said, her voice sounding _so_ sweet. “I’m interested in what it is you think you know.”

 

Ouch.

 

Amy stared at her before shaking off a shiver. “You _so_ …” she shook her head, her eyes widening expressively. “Look.”

 

She took a step forward, motioning down to the floor. The floor was simple stonework and there were stones in a relatively straightforward pattern. She pointed to a line of four that were nearest to her. “Groups. In three lines.” She said. “First line is flat. Flat ground by neutral road.”

 

She took another half step. These next four were also mostly in a straight line. “Second line has some flat but some uneven ground too. Is closer to lake.”

 

Lastly she pointed to another four bricks there were slightly curved at the edges, but still sort of a line. “Last line, slope and rough, ice and ice and then steeper slope.”

 

She looked up. “Beginner.” She said, pointing with the toe of her boot to the first line. “Inter Me-de at.” Here she pointed out the second, and for the last she said, “And Veterans.” She shrugged. “Makes sense. Want harder fighters out. Enemy comes, they first line. Offensive defense. Solid.”

 

“Why thank you.” Cullen said, and it took everything in Amy’s being not to ask if he was sassing her. As it was she just stared at him, smirking, before slowly turning back to the floor.

 

She toed one of the stones with her foot. “Each group has near same number. Six men fight six men with six men waiting, then one officer and one runner. Six and six and six again make eighteen, officer and runner makes twenty. Add extra for variance in officers and runners. Twenty-two. Estimate.”

 

She tapped the three lines again. “Four and four and four. That’s twelve. Twenty-two men twelve times is two hun-dred and sixty-four.”She paused, blinking rapidly. “I think…” her eyes drifted up and she tried to picture the numbers in her head. “Two two times one two…. Two six four.” She nodded. “Yes.”

 

“Flissa explained that you said to make enough for three hundred.” Josephine mentioned. Her words were kind, but unlike Leliana’s her curiosity didn’t spell out death.

 

“Hm. Twenty-eight mages.”

 

There was a bit of a pause before Leliana’s head cocked to the side slightly. “You meant to share this with the mages as well.”

 

Amy nodded. “In beginning. They cold too. Stand out with so little. To. Do.”Amy swallowed hard, feeling as though her throat were swelling. It was preposterous, but she’d had to talk a lot and in front of all the important people. “Now. Mages volun-teer. So, prob-ah-bobly should make more.”

 

“The mages are volunteering?” This came from Cullen.

 

“Were asked…this mouhrn-mourn-morning.” Amy said with a nod.

 

“That’s delightful to hear.” Mother Giselle enthused in that tone that grandmothers had when grandchildren told them they were doing well in school.

 

“If there are twwwhenty eight, then we sep-pahrate out four healers. Put them stay-shun-ahry in middle. Tww…” Amy took a breath and rotated her bottom jaw as though she were chewing gum. “Twenty. Four. Left.” She swallowed thickly again. “Groups of two can serhh… Ser. Vise. Each group of…soldiers.”

 

Adan was suddenly at Amy’s side, uncorking a vile and handing it to her. “Drink it.” He demanded in a tone that sounded as if this instruction were the most frustrating thing he’d ever head to deal with in his life.

 

Preposterous creature.

 

Amy knocked it back, her eyes going wide as she took a grounding breath and shivered. It was mostly a minty taste, but minty as in chugging listerine on an empty stomach. It punched its way into her sinus cavity as well as searing over any of the soreness in her throat.

 

She cleared her throat and handed the vile back to him, trying to make sweet eyes at him. It would've worked if they hadn't been watering. “Prince.” She croaked. The display caused a round of chuckles. Even Adan cracked a wry smirk.

 

“Adan’s elf root potion’s a bitch, ain’t it, Charmer?” Sera jibed.

 

“Bad juju.” Amy said, still blinking rapidly. And then it hit her stomach. “Augh..” She took a few deep breaths before giving Adan a wounded expression. “Adan. Thought you liked me. Why??”

 

“It isn’t that bad.” He grumbled.

 

“I believe she has had nothing to eat since this morning, Adan.” Mother Giselle offered, which made him look back and forth between the two women before giving Amy the most stonewalled look of contrition she’d ever seen.

 

“Ah. Yeah. That’s gonna be a kick in the gut.”

 

“Help.” Amy croaked weakly.

 

“Flames, Charmer.” Blackwall grunted. “You shouldn’t just drink whatever people offer you.”

 

She coughed. “Feels like swallowed live nug, and it has opinions.”

 

“Maker’s Breath…” Varric murmured, suddenly concerned. “All that from an Elf root potion?”

 

Adan had the curtesy to look a touch guilty. “Well… it’s actually elf root extract… pretty powerful.”

 

Not-Dean Winchester-Inquisitor stared at him in shocked horror. “You son of a bitch.” He deadpanned.

 

“I thought it would help!” Adan groused. “It’s not like she could be more…whatever it is that she is.”

 

“Trusted Adan.” Amy groaned, hoarsely. “Son of a Tevinter whore. Betrayer. _Harellan_. Betrayer of the people.”

 

Solas lost it.

 

He had been keeping his head down, pretending to scratch his chin or his cheek or his temple or _anything_ that would obstruct the view of his full face. He’d been running on limited sleep this morning with the farce of a show-down at Neutral Road, and nothing had improved his wretched mood.

 

But now, he just couldn’t hold it in any more, and he laughed. It burst forth, having been kept in check far too long, bending him to lean forward and put his hands on his knees.

 

“You broke Chuckles.” Varric said, somewhat scandalized and somewhat impressed.

 

Sera giggled something that sounded like, “Way to go, Elfy.”

 

Bull offered her a flask, and she stared at it for a moment. “I mean…it’s whisky.” He said carefully, and she snatched it away taking several gulps. “Um.. Alright then. Easy there.” She held up a hand towards him, continuing to take heavy swallows. Finally she gasped and handed it back. He pretended to weigh it in his hand mournfully.

 

The room seemed to settle, and Amy was somewhat relieved to note that most everyone seemed…. More relaxed. Maybe it was trite, but laughter seemed to be the best medicine.

 

She was relaxed as well… and she had no idea how much of that was Adan’s extract and how much was the whisky. Either way, she was not about to give Adan any credit.

 

“Come now, Charmer. You were explaining about the mage volunteers.” Josephine entreated. Amy did not miss the ghost of surprise that flickered over Leliana’s face as her eyes darted to Josephine and then away.

 

Amy knew many things about Leliana, but two things stood out at this particular moment. Leliana was always in the Mage’s corner; and, Leliana would fuck you up if you messed with Josephine.

 

Processing that, she decided to be as gentile as possible when dealing with or addressing Josephine, and illustrate exactly how beneficial this arrangement would be for the mages.

 

“First off,” Amy muttered, swinging to point at Adan. “Bitch.” It earned her a huffy little grunt which _could almost_ be a laugh, since it was Adan. His expression was unmoving (as always), so at least no damage was done. Adan rarely took things personally… he was always gruff with everyone.

 

She took a settling breath before turning back to face Josephine and the rest of the room.

 

“Most mages feel frustrated.” Amy began. “See sky, see uncertain future. See soldiers, and even more uncertain. Those who did trust in templars see very few of them, and those who don’t see vague threats.”

 

Amy let that sit with the room for a minute before she continued. “Mages join Inquisition…because they _want_ to help. Want to work together. Be a part of solution….but, now they have nothing. Only a tent to huddle in. Is _very_ frustrating.”

 

She switched viewpoints now. “Soldiers see mages and are nervous. Killed the Divine? Made all the trouble?” She shrugged. “Don’t know. Only what they hear.” She smirked. “They gossip like women, so they hear a lot.” Both Blackwall and Cullen chuckled at that. “Mages bring them vitality, mingle with them, they see mages are people too… not _so_ scary.”

 

Amy smiled, her gaze moving around the room. “No matter…what we were. Before. we are part…of Inquisition now.” Her eyebrows rose. “Is easy to say, but harder to make so.” She rolled her shoulders back, clasping her hands over the small of her back. “Must show that our differences…are not… _defining_.” She shrugged. “Have to put them in position to work together. Can’t just _tell_ them. They have to figure it out. On their own.” Shook her head. “Is only way.”

 

“So.” Leliana began, breaking the silence that followed. “You will not be responsible for the brew itself… Your only intentions were to put forth the idea in hopes of helping, and then allow those that could the opportunity to do so?”

 

“Help Flissa. Help Adan. Help Mother Giselle. Help where can.” Her eyes drifted to Solas and she half smirked. “Humility is a virtue.” He actually smirked back at her, as if they were sharing a private joke… then again, she supposed that they were.

 

There were a few beats of silence that followed. Mostly, Amy felt as though she’d said her piece and nothing really needed to be added.

 

“If I may,” Mother Giselle stepped forward, beside Amy. “I believe now is the perfect time for my testimony in this.” She smiled. “It falls to me to say that Amy is the most dedicated and unassuming worker I have had the privilege of overseeing. She has come to the chantry every day after noon bell and offered help to the elves without any prior instruction. She finds what jobs need to be done, and simply does them. If there is ever any question, whether she has finished a job or finds it already done, she inquires what else may be done. Initially, our elves were reluctant to work beside her, but they consider her one of their own now.”

 

...well that was a glowing review. If she could, Amy would put it on her resume. 

 

Leliana nodded at this after a moment of contemplation.

 

“Try where I can.” Amy said.

 

“For the record, I too trust in Charmer.” Not-Dean said.

 

“Some causes are hopeless.” Amy muttered.

 

“Why’re you looking at me when you say that?” Inquisitor-Not-Dean asked. Amy continued to stare at him, only lifting her eyebrows, because honestly the obvious joke was made. He chuckled and shook his head.

 

“If that matter is settled,” Cullen began, looking to Leliana pointedly. “I would like to meet with the other collaborators on this privately.”

 

“Zat mean we can leave?” Sera asked anxiously.

 

“Yes.” Leliana said with a sigh.

 

“Score.”Sera sang out as she skittered away. Amy was waiting for everyone to file out so that she could go as well.

 

“Amy, isn’t it?” Cullen asked.

 

“…Yes.” And suddenly Amy felt very small again.

 

“Please, stay as well?” he entreated.

 

…Well.. He’d said please, hadn’t he? It was over.

 

She nodded, patting Bull’s arm to say that she was alright. He nodded and ducked out of the doorway.

 

“Now, do you prefer Amy or Charmer?” Cullen asked.

 

Amy shrugged. “Respond to ‘hey you’ in emergencies.”

 

He let out a little laugh, smiling at her. “Good to know. Before Leliana intervened with our initial meeting, the four of us were discussing the possibility of asking for you to service as a liaison on this.”

 

“…Lea…? Me?”

 

“Yes. Most specifically, you will be working between Flissa with the product, Adan with the materials, Mother Giselle with the volunteers and myself with the soldiers to better affect policy.” He stared at her. Did he think she didn’t understand what a liaison was? Probably. “You seem to have a talent for relating to…well. Everyone.” He had a peculiar soft smile about him that she wasn’t quite used to seeing.

 

“You..ok with that?”

 

He blinked. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

 

Amy only lowered her eyes and shrugged.

 

“I think the better question is, are you alright with this?” Cullen asked. “Certainly, it was your idea, but if you would rather it be executed by others…”

 

“No.” Amy said shaking her head. “I want toooooo help… however I can. Just…” She kept her eyes lowered, not sure how to explain without sounding like a tattle tale… she was _not_ a tattle tale. “Don’t want to interrupt or distract or get in the way.”

 

She didn’t see Cullen’s eyes narrow, or Flissa, Adan and Mother Giselle look between the three of themselves in confusion.

 

“You are part of ‘the way’, Amy.” Cullen said firmly. “Perhaps it’s not something that anyone else chooses to see,but you are always working for the benefit of others. Their welfare is obviously important to you. I’ve no intention of forgetting that.”

 

It was what she’d wanted. A place… not necessarily a high-ranking place, just somewhere that she could fit and make use of herself. She felt disconnected, the surreal circumstance making her feel just slightly off balance..

 

And to hear _Cullen_ say these things… Of all people!

 

She _knew_ he wasn’t a complete stick in the mud….she’d just assumed that it took a bit of drink to get him there.

 

“Thank you.” Amy said.

 

Cullen’s face did something strange. It just…settled. He seemed, at once, tired and relieved. Amy wondered how true to the game he was on things like sleep.

 

“If it is agreeable with you, I would like to have you walk the field tomorrow morning.” He said. “You can sort out how you intend to familiarize yourself with these others however is most convenient for you all.” Amy nodded. “I would like to speak with you privately, if the three of you wouldn’t mind.”

 

Amy felt herself freeze, but there was no way or profit to conveying this anxiousness. She didn’t even have grounds for it.

 

“Of course!” Flissa chimed in. She was ecstatic to have this new project. Amy imaged that she’d been wanting to help with the bigger picture for quite some time. “We can go to my tavern. It’s nice and warm there.”

 

“I must speak with the mages as well.” Mother Giselle murmured.

 

“Ask for Norton.” Amy mentioned, and Mother Giselle nodded as she passed through the doorway.

 

Then it was Amy and Cullen standing alone… and Amy had no idea how this had happened or why it was necessary.

 

“In the interest of being straightforward… there are some things I wish to convey.” Cullen began. Amy nodded, waiting for him to find the words. “Firstly, I feel it necessary to discredit whatever it is Ser Wystan may’ve said to you.”

 

“Ser Wystan?”

 

“Yes.” Cullen rocked back a bit, resting his hands on his sword hilt the way he did in some of the cinematics. “He has warned me, quite vocally against your presence near the field.” Cullen’s expression was mostly aggravated. “I believe he referred to you as a ‘dangerous distraction’.” Cullen stared at her expectantly and Amy found she couldn’t hold his gaze for very long. “I suspect he’s had a chance to reiterate that to you as well.”

 

Amy gave a single nod. There was no point in lying now.

 

“I’ll be blunt. Most of the soldiers take great joy in your presence. It’s a very positive moral boost.” Amy blinked rapidly at that. “Some feel you have no business being on or near the field. This is mostly because they fear any danger that would befall you from other soldiers or any distraction you may cause that would cause injury to soldiers.” He huffed heavily, shaking his head. “There is a small portion of men who are suspicious of you, though no one can tell me _why_.”

 

“Can’t or won’t?”

 

“I’m thinking it’s the latter.” Cullen grumbled. “Ideally, no woman would have to worry about these things. But our soldiers are from anywhere we can manage, and policies are more difficult to enforce. Our standards cannot be too high, especially for beginners.”

 

Amy nodded that she understood, and waited to see if there was more.

 

“You are not simple-minded or touched.” Cullen said. “I apologize if I have treated you as if you were.” Cullen smiled when Amy blinked rapidly at him. “Unlike Leliana, I think your ability to connect is a boon. I intend to use it.”

 

“Eh?”

 

“Oh." Cullen shook his head dismissively. "When the four of us were talking, Leliana overheard us and said something about how easily you connect to everyone.” Cullen said with a shrug.

 

“She’s… okay with this?” Amy asked carefully.

 

“When I mentioned it she was relatively enthusiastic about it.” He said, and Amy began to see this a little more clearly.

 

The entire thing had not been about her intentions with the brew. It had been to get a read on her and then provide her with enough leeway to prove herself or enough rope to hang herself. Leliana was allowing her this so that she could observe her. Maybe let her get comfortable to see if she would slip up.

 

By the crafty smile on Cullen’s face, she assumed that he suspected something similar of Leliana's motivations.

 

“To be clear, I want the matter of you to be settled among the soldiers. Also, I want them to keep to their jobs when a woman walks on the field, even if she seems out of place.” He seemed a touch contrite before continuing. “I understand that putting you in this position makes you a type of…prototype in which they must make many mistakes in order to learn the better of it.”

 

“Oh. I _will_ teach.” Amy said with certainty born in bedrock.

 

He let out a little breathy laugh through his nose, smiling just a little. “I…heard a few tales of a match against the Iron Bull.” He shook his head. “They cannot be possible. You, yourself, have mentioned how soldiers gossip, after all.” She snorted, and looked away. “But…you would be in what is likely to be an uncomfortable position, since it is with you that they will have to learn.”

 

“Not afraid.”

 

“Does anything scare you?” Cullen asked, only partially joking.

 

There was a beat of silence before. “Leliana.” He nodded, and she smirked. “Prob’ly Cassandra too.” He was nodding vigorously now. She smiled at him. “Tell me when you want me, an’ I’ll be there.”

 

It was hilarious. Cullen froze, and his ears flushed just slightly. Amy pretended not to see it, letting her eyebrows drift up, still patiently waiting on him.

 

“Ah… yes.. Um. A-any time after eight bells.” He said before clearing his throat.

 

She nodded slowly.

 

He eyed her suspiciously, and she tried to appear oblivious.

 

She nodded. “Cool. Cool. Cool.” Abed Nadir would be proud.

 

“I beg your pardon?”

 

Amy smiled and shook her head. “Nothin’.” She took a deep breath and sighed contentedly. “Back to work?”

 

He sighed, much less content than she. “Always.”

 

The two shuffled outside. He made his way back to the the field, and she lingered at the chantry’s flank, wondering if the terrible trio in the tavern needed more time to collaborate or not.

 

“Charmer!”

 

Amy turned to find Inquisitor-Not-Dean barreling towards her. He rushed forward, and then halted, faltering. It was so obvious. He was so _obvious_.

 

He read as he was, a man who had something important to tell her, but she’d figured it out, and now he was left with the awkwardness of not having told her.

 

Amy bent down and began gathering up snow in her hands.

 

“I, uh… I wanted to…” He paused. “What are you doing?”

 

“Nothin’.” She muttered, packing the snow as tightly as she could into a ball.

 

He blinked at this. “About.. Uh…ah, fuck it. I should’ve told you, but…” Amy eyed him as he tried to compose his thoughts. “You treat me like a person, and… I didn’t want that to change.”

 

Amy’s bottom lip stuck out as she considered that and nodded. “Now, though. You won’t know… if you _could’ve_ told.”

 

She felt a certain sympathy with him on the subject as she was struggling with a similar issue. She couldn’t just tell anyone anything could she? But she wanted to.

 

She’d tried on numerous occasions, and not just with Bull. She’d tried warning Cullen about the coming army and Cassandra about the Seekers. They’d treated her like a lunatic. Shushed her, hushed her, and herded her away like irritated, underpaid customer service reps.

 

But if she continued to press the issue, would that gain Leliana’s attention? If she didn’t press the issue, how responsible was she for the deaths of those who faced Corypheus’s forces?

 

“Yeah… I—Hey!”

 

Amy threw the snowball at him. It hit him square in the neck, exploded into a powdery frost bomb and then filtered into every crevice of his clothing.

 

“Enjoy snow armor.” She said with a snorting chuckle. “Little shit.”

 

“Very nice.” He grunted, trying to shimmy in place as if he could filter the snow out. It didn’t work as well as he’d hoped.

 

“You got a name?” Amy asked.

 

“Yeah. Samuel.”

 

She let out a barking laugh. “Samuel Trevelyan?” What were the odds that Not-Dean-Winchester would be named Sam? That was just…just too much. “Aw, Sammy.”

 

“….my brothers used to call me that.” He muttered, sounding so unhappy.

 

“You’ve brothers?”

 

He nodded, then stilled. “Well…Had… I have one now. The other…” Amy’s mood somber at that, the weight pulling at the edges of her eyes. “My youngest brother was a mage. I haven’t seen him since….” He shook his head. “I was at the conclave looking for him, but… I didn’t see him before…” He let out a laugh that was anything but cheerful. “It was foolish, going all the way out there for that and then… this..” He hung his head.

 

Amy let that hang between them, suddenly more than a little sympathetic to him. “Sorry.”

 

He smirked. “Oh, yeah. You probably wish you’d fucked me when you had the chance.” He gloated, and she could see all the bravado so clearly that it hurt.

 

“Pfll!” she scoffed. “No.” She said, her voice deepening to a dopey tone to convey how ridiculous he was. “Probably have to do all the work.”

 

“Hey.” He whined, feigning hurt.

 

“But I am… sorry. Sorry you have mark. Sorry you carry it all.”

 

He nodded, shifting his arm behind him again. He was so self conscious about it. “Figure I should cope with kissing my arm goodbye after this.”

 

“Should.” Amy murmured. “Gonna loose it.”

 

He let out a single breathy laugh and then froze, staring at her. “What? You… you think?”

 

“Know.” Amy nodded. “Gonna loose it.” She pointed to her own elbow. “Up to here.” She nodded. “Better make other hand strong.”

 

“Uh…” He stared at his marked hand now, shaking his head. “I uh.. I am, right handed actually.”

 

“Good. That’s good. Prom-es-sing.”

 

He stared at her unflinchingly. “You’re serious.”

 

She nodded, her eyes softening. “Have time. Time to work. Time to change.” She smiled sadly. “Time to try.”

 

“How long do you think we have?” He asked, somewhere between concerned and mystified.

 

“If goes as I know… little over three years.” Amy said her lips pursing. “We’ll make difference. We’ll be change. Be ok, Sammy.”

 

He half scoffed on a laugh. “I think I could let you get away with calling me that.” His face soured. “It’s better than Varric’s nickname.”

 

“What Varric’s?” asked, suddenly very interested.

 

He shook his head. “Nope.”

 

“I find out.” Amy reasoned.

 

“The later, the better.” Sam said, waving his hands up in a half-surrender-half-shoo motion.

 

She pouted and then shrugged. “I gotta Flissa.” She said flouncing away.

 

“You go. You Flissa. You Flissa your charming little heart out.” He muttered, sauntering behind her as she took the path towards the tavern. “I’m probably due for an ass kicking on the field. Either by Cullen or Cassandra.”

 

“Ouch.”

 

“Wanna guess which I’d prefer?”

 

Amy stared at him for long minutes. “You wrong, boy.” She said shaking her head.

 

He snickered. “I know. She’s totally out of my league.”

 

Amy blinked, her mouth curling up in a grinch-like smirk as her inner fangirl suddenly set sail on a new ship. _Bon voyage!_ “Hmmm. Not… _totally_.”

 

His face went slack. “What?”

 

“Lots to do. Busy. Busy. Off-off-off.” She tutted.

 

“Charmer….” He wilted. “I’mma have a talk with you later, you know.”

 

“Nope. Too busy.” She said ducking behind the tavern door. She leaned out again. “Go. Be busy.” Before snatching herself back inside again.

 

He sighed heavily. “Women.”

 

Sam stared at his marked hand and the closed door in his face for a few minutes before shaking his head and taking the path down to the field.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew... Longest chapter yet with over 5,000 words o..o I thought about breaking it up, but I feel like it flows better as a single piece.
> 
> Also, I wrote this all yesterday =..= While I should've been writing papers for my American Indian class... It's whatever :3
> 
> Soooo... you like?


	13. Never a Bride

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoo... it's been really harsh over here. Trying to find a place to live while you're hustling to find a job... those are not easy tasks to accomplish :|
> 
> PS: Is anyone else super relieved that Johnny Rees/Greg Ellis is alright? Because I am. 
> 
> Also, sorry if it feels like this chapter is filler. I mean, it sort of is, but it's necessary. I'd been putting off posting it, because I kept thinking that more needed to happen. But... I mean. This chapter's kinda done. 
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy :)

The night before Amy had to report for duty on the field felt longer than all nighters before finals.

 

Adan and Flissa had been positively vibrating with energy as they schemed up ways to accomplish their goals. They needed certain types of equipment that they’d have to procure, and they needed to come up with a recipe that didn’t taste medicinal.

 

Adan and Flissa were hilarious as a team. Flissa was all pep and optimism, and Adan was so grouchy and languid. Somehow they managed to balance each other out without influencing the nature of the other… it was a union of opposites.

 

Another thing that had happened that night? Solas had gone out of his way to approach Amy.

 

“I have consulted with Adan concerning your condition.” He’d said. “We both theorize that the elfroot extract has helped as much as it can, but your lingering speech impediment would indicate that the problem does not lie in the structure of your muscles.”

 

Amy had blinked at him, an uneasy despair seeping into her gut. Was Solas trying to tell her that this was how she was now? At the time, Amy wondered if what she felt was some form of dissociation. Part of her knew that they were talking about her, but at the same time it felt like it shouldn’t affect her. As though it wasn’t right, somehow. She felt herself drifting as she stared back at Solas, frozen in place and yet her mind sliding away.

 

“If you would permit me, perhaps I may discern how to help you better if I were able to meet with you privately.”

 

That sharpened the feelings into a bright stab of terror.

 

Be alone with Solas?

 

…That… sounded… Dangerous.

 

She’d felt like she was alone with him in the tavern some times, just because he had a very singular stare. It isolated her even when the room was full of people.

 

He was right. The elfroot extract concoction of Adan’s had helped with the muscle aches, the tiredness generated from dealing with her limitations. But it hadn’t helped her speech pattern much. Well. Not as much as the whiskey had. She was the daughter of an Irishman, but even so she knew whiskey was not the answer to her problems… besides, they didn’t have Bushmills whiskey here.

 

“Think about it?” Amy entreated, hating her voice for cracking and sounding so timid. He had nodded and said ‘of course’ as though it were the only natural response to have, but she wondered if maybe he didn’t seem a touch disappointed.

 

The rest of the night had been busy. Amy had bounced between tending to patrons and the crew, and trying to weigh in on discourse between Flissa and Adan. Once she’d finally gotten to sleep, she slept hard and soundly through the night.

 

The sisters knew to wake her, and so she was capable of rising and getting herself sorted. Morning routine was important. Even back home, she’d woken earlier than necessary just to be able to get her stretches and warm up routines done before having breakfast and brushing teeth and all that jazz. Now… well.

 

Hygiene was important, even when the rituals were foreign or not practical. Some of the people here used chalk to help clean their teeth, or oil pulls, but Amy couldn’t stand it. So, she used a cloth and water. It didn’t feel right, but her teeth were clean. No matter how weird it was, she could chew and elfroot leaf and have a decent taste in her mouth by the end of it at least. The roots may have the healing properties, but the leaves had some serious flavor.

 

Amy hurriedly fed her horse and meditated on his back quietly as he ate. The meditation, like the stretches, was vital. It let her find her center… and she needed that now.

 

If she were being completely candid, she’d say that she wasn’t entirely sure what she was meant to accomplish today. What function did she serve? And there was the issue of the disquiet among the soldiers.

 

What did they all think and why? She couldn’t really make an opinion or format any sort of battle plan if she didn’t know what was expected. What was expected included what they wanted her to accomplish as well as what failings they assumed she’d have along with their reasons for setting themselves against her.

 

With a final pat, she turned Voltair’s care over to the stable hands and made her way to Neutral Road.

 

By the position of the sun, she imagined it was some time within the seven o’clock hour closing in quickly on eight o’clock. The wind was not so terrible this morning… and that made the cold a little easier to ignore. She stood, with her eyes closed, enjoying the warmth from the sun and the way it turned her inner dark a ruddy brown.

 

Her hands came up at belly level, forming two fists and resting knuckles of one hand in the grooves of the opposite hand.

 

She remembered Solas’s words.

 

So. The elfroot was doing all that elfroot could do, huh?

 

What did that mean? Neurological problems? She supposes she’d always suspected there were wires crossed in her brain. She wasn’t sure if it was because she was dissociating or because she’d slept or because she was grounded in her stance and breathing properly….but she felt oddly resilient.

 

Most of this she contributed to being out on the field. She couldn’t afford to be weepy here. She’d have to strap on her game face and walk with confidence, because if she didn’t these men would eat her alive.

 

She heard Blackwall before he spoke. When her eyes popped open, he halted abruptly as if surprised. He smiled before barking out. “Look who it is.”

 

Amy give a little bow. “Didn’t know?”

 

His bushy eyebrows ticked up. “Know what? You supposed to be here, Charmer?”

 

Amy gave a single nod. “Co - mander asked.” She pointed and gestured in a broad ‘here and there’ manner. “Scope out.”

 

“Huh.” Blackwall muttered. “What all does he want you to do exactly?” He asked, sounding just a touch concerned. Why was everyone always so concerned for her?

 

“Don’t know.” Amy said with a shrug.

 

Blackwall seemed to sag at that. “Hard to know how to proceed, don’t you think?” Amy smirked and shrugged again. He looked blandly away before sighing, “Balls.”

 

“How's lookin' out there?”

 

Blackwall’s gaze returned to her, measuring his thoughts exactly to better know what to say. Blackwall still wasn’t entirely sure about Amy. The read he got on her from her time at the tavern was that she was no shrinking violet.

 

“Ends and middle, same as always. There are the ones in the middle, with varying degrees of ‘neutral’. There are those who think you do good things wherever you are. There are the soldiers who think you don’t belong out here.” He paused, gauging her reaction. When her only response was an apathetic acceptance, he continued. “The ones who don’t want you out here worry over the danger. A woman on a field full of men with weapons, all of which are jockeying for position and distinction. Smells like a right mess, no two ways about it. Others think the only ones that should be out on the field are instructors and students. You’re neither.”

 

“Very… U~til~ah~ter~yan.” she half-sang.

 

Blackwall’s bushy eyebrows rose as he nodded. “True.” Blackwall sighed. “There’s also… the rumors floating around.”

 

“Rumors?” When he seemed reluctant, she narrowed her eyes at him.

 

“There are a lot of them. The two bigger ones are also on both ends of the issue. There’s the boys who don’t want you on the field and think you’re… well, it’s not polite—”

 

“Black. Wall.” Amy growled.

 

“They think you’re either the Iron Bull’s strumpet or just some tart that the Chargers pass around.” Blackwall said at last.

 

Amy blinked. “Huh.” She nodded. “Can see it.”

 

Blackwall snorted. “The others… well, it’s more disturbing. Has a lot to do with how you were found.” Amy cocked her head to the side, still giving him that needle-eyed glare. “Well. You know. You were found in similar fashion to Sam.” Amy blinked rapidly, not liking where that was going. “There are folks who think you walked through the Fade as well. There was the image of a woman in the fade with him, and people think that was Andraste, and then you were there, so… Some even believe that you could be Andraste come again.”

 

“Fuck me runnin’ a 5k!” Amy snapped. “What!”

 

That… that didn’t even make sense on ANY level. As far as she’d read, the people of Thedas didn’t have any system of reincarnation at all.

 

Also, there were many skills that Amy had cultivated, but.. well. The saying 'always a bride's maid and never a bride' definitely applied. Of the four 'serious' relationships she'd had, only two had been very, _very_ serious. Neither of those had been remotely in the area of marriage. Which wasn't to say that Amy was directly opposed to marriage. She supported equal rights, which meant that if people wanted to be married, that was fine. She just... didn't ...she didn't... Aw balls, it just wasn't something she'd been interested in for herself. One could argue that even in her 'very _very_ serious relationships', she hadn't  _wanted_ to be married.... Anyway! Being labeled as the reincarnated Bride of the Maker just... oh, it was just so wrong on so many levels.

 

Blackwall was laughing. Probably because she was sporting a seriously disgusted and horrified face right now. To be fair, he wasn’t the one they assumed was a reincarnated deity-figure.

 

“Hey, you heard all the crap they’ve spewed about Sam. Herald of Andraste and all that.”

 

Amy remembered Blackwall to be relatively devout. Not pious like Sebastian, but there were certain things, sacred things, that he supported. She wondered if maybe he’d had conversations with Sam about the ‘herald’ topic already.

 

Amy huffed. “Stupid.” She grumbled petulantly.

 

“Right. So, there are a myriad of opinions out here.”

 

Amy tried to shrug off the irritation she felt with this knowledge. How in the world could anyone assume such absurd things? Her being the Charger’s floozy was so much more believable… even if it was a touch on the ridiculous side too. But that was simple. People knew she hung about in the tavern and tended to favor the Chargers. It would be easy to make assumptions. But anyone who spoke to her or spent time with her in the tavern would realize she wasn’t.

 

The other thing… goddamn.

 

It put a cold dread into her gut. She wondered how Sam was coping with the whole ‘Herald’ business. It made her knuckles itchy.

 

“So, you’re not blessed Andraste sent to guide our holy Herald, eh Charmer?” Blackwall’s snark was not appreciated.

 

“Sure. N’yur the Empress of Or-frigin’-lay.”

 

Blackwall guffawed. “Glad to know where we stand then!” he poked in her general direction. “Does that mean I could sleep on gilded sheets? Maybe order more servants around?”

 

“Ey.” Amy’s thumb jutted towards herself. “Still om-nipo-tent god’s bride.” She tilted her chin up high and looked down her nose as she pointed to Blackwall. “Out-raahnke you.”

 

“Ha!” He glanced down the line. “And it looks like you’re about to get that tour you wanted, your worship.”

 

“Give ya somethin’ t’wurship.” Amy grumbled before Cullen, Evard, and Norton of all people approached. Also, the veteran she now knew as Ser Wystan was with them.

 

She took a soft settling breath, trying to mentally ground herself against all the annoying buzz of distraction.

 

“Eight bells already.” Cullen said as he approached. “Warden Blackwall.” He said, nodding in acknowledgment towards the man who would be Blackwall. “And, Miss Amy.” She leaned into a low bow. Cullen half stepped back and turned so that Ser Wystan wasn’t blocked from view. “Ser Wystan has voiced several concerns over your safety, and as such I believe he will best serve as your guide and guardian while you are on the field.”

 

It was everything Amy could do not to smirk at this. Wystan’s face was settled into a revolting sort of resignation. As though he’d just bitten into fruit that he had suspected was sour…and it was. It was very sour.But he’d plucked the fruit, and he’d bitten into it, so he only had himself to blame.

 

Amy tried to remind herself to handle this with good grace if anything at all.

 

Normally, she might feel a little miffed at having an escort, but with Blackwall’s explanation… well. She understood why many people might feel more comfortable assigning one to her.

 

Aside from that, the look on Wystan’s face made her want to stick her tongue out at him. But that was juvenile….

 

“Anything specific on the agenda for today?” Cullen asked.

 

“Wah-lking. And. Wah-tching.” Amy replied. Hopefully she would be done before lunch... She needed to check in with Flissa about her plans for the brew. 

 

Cullen nodded. “It is good to gain the lay of the land.” He gave Ser Wystan a pointed look before turning to walk back towards the way he’d come. “I suppose we’ll leave you to it then.”

 

“Thank you, gentle men.” Amy said politely.

 

Ser Wystan sighed. “Well. Ready to get this going, tiny dancer?”

 

Amy noticed the mild look of aggravation crossing both Norton and Blackwall’s faces. Cullen’s back was to her, but he stopped, his shoulders rolling back slightly.

 

She knew then that Cullen would try to do something to handle the situation, to corral Ser Wystan. Remind everyone that this was something he’d decided, and he was still in charge. Which meant if she wanted things to proceed smoothly, she would have to find a way to dismiss Ser Wystan’s words as simple sass instead of something offensive.

 

She laughed, loudly as she could without sounding annoying while still conveying a sense of genuine joy. That certainly got a lot of attention. It occurred to Amy that a lot of the men around them were paying attention to this little altercation when multiple heads and persons turned at the sound of her laugh.

 

She pointed at Ser Wystan. “If you.” She took an easy step forward. “Wanna dance.” Another step, this time swinging her foot out in a wider arch than she usually would. “With me.” She came to a stop in front of him and smiled brightly. “Ya gotta learn tha steps.”

 

And with that she brushed right past him,  and down the line.

 

She'd changed a bit of the way she walked, leading heavily with her shoulders while still allowing the natural sway of her hips. Connor had once told her that when she walked like this, she read as a predator...and that was the best way to not be eaten alive.

 

Reactions varied here. Some of the men seemed delighted by her presence, some were worried, and others were shocked by this development. She didn't see any of them because her jaw was level and her eyes were forward.

 

She had a lot of walking to do today, and Wystan would just have to acclimate to her presence. Guardian, escort or whatever he was, she wasn’t about to let him slow her down.

 

 For whatever reason, Halsey's version of 'I Walk the Line' was stuck in her head.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now... *loud frowning* back to the job hunt... :(


	14. The Lady and the Tiger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amy is confronted with a conspiracy and begins a conspiratory group of her own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, dunno if you noticed by now, but whenever I reply to comments, it usually means a post is soon to come.. Like. I usually reply to comments after the first draft of the new chapter is done :3 so there's part of my process. #BehindTheScenes lol
> 
> I'm so sorry that it's taken so long. Moving is hell, and there's been a ton of stuff that I had to go through, personally, and...I could not write. I whined about it on my LJ (which I should probably post this to as well...) so that no one has to worry about it, and that's just gonna be that. But I'm getting back in the swing of things. Soon I'll be living alone, so... yeah. 
> 
> Now, before the existential dread sets in, we should probably just get this party started :)

 

Amy’s trip down the line ended several paces beyond where the last groups of men were practicing. She was pleased to note that the ice was neither smooth nor wet, which made walking on it relatively easy. It didn’t mean that slipping was impossible, but gaining traction wasn’t a struggle at least.

 

She turned, right-facing and proceeded to walk the length of the two groups on the last row. When she got to the end, she stooped and stood. If she happened to lean heavily to one side and then sway to the other, that was just because there was music in her head, propelling her forward and it demanded movement even when she wanted to be still. Besides, these boys needed to acclimate to the weird as soon as possible.

 

She passed Ser Wystan on her way back, and he walked at her side for a few paces. Finally, he asked, “What is it we’re doing here, Misses?”

 

“Wahl-king. Wah-tching.”

 

“Obviously. But what do you hope to accomplish?”

 

“Looooads.” She said as they finally got back tot he center line. It was in the middle, dividing the column of fighters into two on one side and two on the other. She decided to call it Median road. “One. See soldiers. Soldiers see me. Ak-la-mate.”

 

“They get used to the sight of you, it’s not as rare. It doesn’t cause a fuss as much. I get that.” Wystan admitted with a nod.

 

“Two. Test for wahlk.” She took a deep breath, trying to relax the muscles in her throat. “Gaaah-ge. Gauge. Diff-ickult.”

 

“Gauging the difficulty of the walk?”

 

Amy nodded. “Mages not fiiiiih-ters. See how paw-sib-le.”

 

His eyes narrowed as confusion settled over his face. “What do the mages have to do with this?”

 

“Coohm-ander not say?”

 

“He only says that you are working on the development of…something. It’s vague.”

 

“Pro-ceeee-dure.” Amy says trying not to grind her molars together. Dammit. She would speak, and she would do it as close to proper as she could. “Mahke brew. Remedy. Help re-vital-iiihze. Re. Vitalize. Soldiers.” She swallowed hard. “Mages serve soldiers.”

 

Ser Wystan blinked rapidly as he processed this, then he promptly found other things to look at somewhere in the sea of soldiers. “Huh.” He paused, glaring into the crowd, though at what Amy could not pinpoint. “So… let me see if I have this right.” He planted his feet, cleared his throat. “You’re helping to make some sort of delivery system that will allow the mages to service a remedy of some sort to the soldiers?”

 

Amy nodded. “Flissa. Adan. Mahke brew. I’m beet-ween. I’m…. Go. between.”

 

Wystan was nodding his understanding. “You think you can do it?”

 

“Ask me. What. I cahnot do.”

 

Wystan blinked at her, rocking back just slightly. He eyed her for a moment before complying. “What can you not do?”

 

Amy grinning, bright with optimism and hope. “Nothing.”

 

Wystan gave a single, good-humored scoff. “I almost buy that.” He took in a deep breath, letting it fill his chest as he thought over his next question. “How long do you think it’ll take for the first run of this remedy?”

 

Amy shrugged, an uneasy flounce. “Could hu-weeks.”

 

Wystan’s eyebrows rose suddenly before a tired expression settled back on his face.

 

Amy tried with all her might not to be distracted by the heavy stubble and enormous walrus mustache…. But it really did weird things when his face moved. The mustache especially.

 

If Wystan weren’t in heavy armor, she would totally peg him as some sort of cowboy straight out of the wild west. He was even bowlegged! Like he’d been riding a cow trail all day. The downtrodden and yet somehow ruggedly romantic hero….if only he had the grace and charm of another mustached man, she would probably forgive him for a lot more.

 

“There’ll be trouble, you know?” He said, snapping her out of her musings. “The men are staying in line now because they’re not sure what to make of this. But you start coming out on this field regular-like…” he shook his head. “Someone’s bound to step out of bounds and try something, even if it’s just to see if he can.”

 

Amy smirked, which made Wystan blink in confusion. “Hope so.” She said, her mischievous mouth turning a little too toothsome to be playful. “I am. The lady AND the tiger.” She practically purred.

 

Again, Wystan’s bushy eyebrows went up. They almost matched his mustache. “I have no idea what that means.” He shook his head slightly, still eyeing her. “You ever notice how you hover about the outside of things, and then suddenly you’re in the thick of it tryin’ to change it?”

 

Amy smiled sadly. “To be relevant, you have to be an outsider.” She said perfectly, which gave her the most bittersweet pleasure. “Joan Rivers said.” Her eyes ticked upwards towards the green tinted sky. “Rest soul, Mama Joan.” Wystan blinked at her, his eyes narrowing in confusion. Amy sighed. “From outside. See. In.” She shrugged.

 

He stared at her for a moment longer. “Sometimes… You sound insane, and sometimes you sound like you may actually have all the answers.” He grumbled, wishing he could pin down what she actually as.

 

“Don’t freht.” Amy said. “Still lots wahlkin t’do.”

 

To her surprise, he fell into step beside her and asked no more questions.

 

~*~

* * *

 

~*~

 

Amy walked and walked and Ser Wystan walked with her. Neither of them got tired… or at least, neither of them complained about getting tired.

 

Cullen and his entourage were occupying the upper corner, where some of the most green recruits were training. It was a bit of a switch, as they usually kept closer to the more experienced fighters.

 

Cullen was also scowling… which made Amy want to hang back or ask what was wrong, but neither was an option. Wystan was good enough to approach first, which gave Amy more time to observe. She watched with mounting concern as his scowl did not lessen.

 

“Amy?”

 

Amy turned to find Siheta approaching…. Which, was another strange circumstance. Amy hadn’t heard Siheta speak much at all, let alone go out of her way to approach anyone….

 

“Siheta.” Amy greeted, stumbling over the name somewhat. She would have to practice saying it or something, because butchering up the syllables when it was a very lovely name was so wrong.

 

“You are well.” The Qunari said, eyeing Amy critically. It was a statement, and observation, and yet it was tinted with a question. As though Siheta expected Amy to be very not well and was surprised by Amy’s good health.

 

“Yeeeaaas….” Amy let that drag out on purpose, because she was confused by this entire conversation.

 

Siheta’s face pinched. “I overheard some men today. They were saying that they should kill you.”

 

Amy stared at her, blinking being the only reaction she could muster. Being a subject of ridicule, open hostility, that wasn’t too far from the mark… but becoming a target for murder? That was… odd? Was odd the right word? Certainly it should be more strong. She was probably in shock…hm.

 

“You don’t believe me.” Siheta’s statement was, again, less of a statement and more of a request for further direction.

 

Amy thought about it and reminded herself to breathe. “Need more. The who, why, how, all im-imp. Port-tent.”

 

“I don’t know who they were; they were dressed as soldiers. There were no visible identifying marks or distinguishable features.” Siheta began. Her manner seemed to change like a switch had been flicked. The careful concern vanished in the wake of this new clinical detailing. “They were trying to be secretive, and that made me pay closer attention to them. One of them said that they had gotten word that you were now as crucial a target as the Herald, and the others seemed to think you would be as easy to kill considering how visible you now were.” Siheta paused to take a breath herself. “The fact that they are capable of blending in with the soldiers is most troubling.”

 

“More waze thaaahn one.” Amy bit out.

 

“Miss. Amy?” Cullen was approaching them, eyeing Siheta with more surprise than caution. “I was hoping to get a report from you as well.”

 

Amy had a second to think of what Siheta had told her and make a decision, and a second was all she needed. She’d worked with men like Cullen so often that she understood the need to be upfront. If she acted secretive that could easily translate to untrustworthy. She liked to think the work she was doing was important, but it wasn’t worth her life or the lives of others who could get hurt.

 

“Siheta say-es men wan-wan… Want to kill me.” Amy ground her molars together.

 

Cullen finally broke from his scowl, his eyebrows raising high as he looked between the two women.

 

Amy looked at Siheta and gave a single nod in Cullen’s direction, and the woman didn’t hesitate to ramble off the same report she had given to Amy.

 

“Other than…that… Today good.” Amy said giving Cullen a thumbs up.

 

He laughed, messaging his brow. “Truly nothing troubles you.” He muttered.

 

“Not so.” Amy grumbled. “Troubled but…” She looked back towards the men on the training yard. “Gotta make ‘em bastards work.” She smirked. “Let ‘em see ya dancin’.”

 

Cullen nodded. “You can’t let them see you flinch.” Amy only smiled. Cullen, for the most part, appeared as equally unmoved…but he let out a long breath. “Do you wish to continue this?”

 

“Yes.” Amy’s answer was out before he’d finished his question, and Cullen was nodding as if he’d assumed that would be the case. “M’I ah-loud to answer force with force?”

 

Cullen blinked, his eyebrows twitching up again. “With Wystan there, I had hoped he would discourage such harassment. However, if it comes down to it, yes. You should never worry over your right to defend yourself.”

 

Amy steepled her hands, only letting her fingertips touch before half groaning, half whispering, “Good….good.” It was down-right Machiavellian, really. And it made Cullen _and_ Siheta laugh. That was a win. “Could I… bring moar mages?”

 

“How many?”

 

“Four.” Amy ground her molars together. “Es-tim-ated two per group….but… may need more.”

 

Cullen seemed to be thinking it over. “Four mages, you and Wystan… That’s doable. In fact, it may continue to act as a buffer.”

 

“Need oh-pin-yons.” When Cullen continued to stare at her she elaborated. “Mages do this. Need Mage’s o-pin-ions.”

 

Cullen was nodding as he continued to construct this in his thoughts. “I assume you have a list already?”

 

Amy nodded. “Siheta. She may rek. Reee cog nize. Con spir ah tors.” Now it was Amy’s turn to scowl. Breaking down words in order to say them wasn’t necessarily new… but it never failed to annoy her. “May cause dis comfort. She… is not.. Circle trained.”

 

“True. However, their comfort isn’t something you should worry about.” Cullen very nearly growled. Amy blinked at him, and his eyes narrowed. He looked to Siheta. “Would you excuse us for a moment?” he asked.

 

Siheta nodded and turned to Amy, a gentle silver-grey hand resting atop Amy’s head. She could feel the woman’s warmth even in all this cold, and something about that bolstered her mood, would-be assassins notwithstanding. For whatever reason, Amy felt all the tension in her neck leave, which served as a domino effect for her shoulders and even the muscles in her head. Most of these were aches she wasn’t even aware she was carrying until they released.

 

“I’ll be with the others.” She said before turning and walking back to the Mages’ tent.

 

Cullen had Amy’s undivided attention now.

 

“You are aware of my history, are you not?” Cullen began. Amy gave a single nod, her eyes not leaving his. She saw very little in the way of response. Cullen maintained that unyielding scowl as he continued. “I’m not certain how you came to know it, but that’s not important right now. Among my time in both circles, I came to recognize a trend in the templars there.” He let out a heavy sigh. “It’s this sense of superiority. As though because they are the fighting force meant to protect, they supersede every other class in society.”

 

“Daaay’n ger~ous.” Amy murmured.

 

“You took the word right out of my mouth.” Cullen spat.

 

“Elite-izm _al-ways_ dangerous. S’pecially in fighters.” She surveyed the men as they went through their paces. “Teach man to fight and noth-ing else… he may think he can…beat down anything.” She looked back to Cullen. “That… that fighting is answer to all problemaz.”

 

“We’ve been saying all along that we can’t afford to be picky.” Cullen observed, rotating his left shoulder as though he needed to work a kink out of it. “But having this many men, and having no guarantee that the majority of them understand basic protocols…” he shook his head.

 

“Quantity over Quality.” Amy said with a nod.

 

His hand left his sword hilt, motioning to her. “Thank you! Yes. That.” He shook his head.

 

“Have they been told?” Amy asked.

 

“Been told?”

 

“Many of these… not soldiers before. Some were soldiers, but… they…” she sighed, flexing her jaw. She’d never had TMJ before, but she was wondering if she was going to grind her teeth down with all this jaw clenching. “They come from different…places. Different polah-cey.” She looked at Cullen. “They been told pah-lacy?”

 

“You think it could be that simple?” Cullen said, catching on. “That we only need them to be _aware_ of the rules.”

 

“If the instructions are not clear, if the orders are not obeyed, it is the fault of the general. But if the instructions are clear and the soldiers still do not obey, it is the fault of their officers.” Amy said with such serious conviction. “Great man said once.” She smirked. “Dee-mon-stray-ted wif army of con-cue-bines.”

 

Cullen blinked, a soft laugh startled out of him. “That sounds like a tavern story.”

 

“You never come to the tavern.” Amy reminded, pretending at being cross.

 

He half smirked, staring out at the training grounds. “Perhaps I should.”

 

“If they are told… then they cannot say they weren’t.” She observed. “If they are told…and they di-uh-bey, then what fah-lows has to be dis-uh-plin. Other-wise we teach them… rules do not matter.”

 

He sighed. “It’s a start.”

 

She nodded. “How your ranks?”

 

Cullen blinked and looked at her, obviously confused. “Uh.. What?”

 

“Ranks? Classiffy…class….” She sighed. “Private? Private First Class? Specialist? Corporal? Sergeant? Captain? Major? Admiral? Lieutenant? What?” Not for the first time, Amy was utterly frustrated with her speech impediment. Oh sure, admiral and lieutenant were just fine, but she couldn’t say things like policy without tripping over them. Her chin jutted out to one of the groups. “What ranks are in average groups?”

 

He was smirking… the damnable man was smirking, or trying not to smirk and failing. Pathetically. Without any remorse over the failure. If he didn’t spend so much time looking miserable, she’d be very upset about this.

 

Cullen motioned to the first row. “These are recruits, overseen by Corporals. The first two there,” he pointed to the two groups farthest from the mages’ tent. “Those are being evaluated for skills. The last two are separated into either fighters or scout work.”

 

He arched his arm up slightly to better motion to the middle row. “The second row consists of a beginner scout and fighter group and an intermediate scout and fighter group.”

 

“Intermediate groups closer to mages’ tent?”

 

Cullen nodded. “Yes.” He gave her an evaluative look before continuing. “These soldiers are refereed to as Agents, and their commanding officers are Captains.”

 

He paused, and Amy could see the wheels turning in his head.

 

“The last row are two groups of adept agents, separated by type. What was it you mentioned earlier? Specialists?” He was nodding almost to himself. “I think I prefer that term, actually.” He murmured absently. “In any case, these specialists are over-seen by Lieutenants.”

 

He took a deep breath before letting it filter out slow, fogging up the air in front of him. “Many groups are out, either on patrols or gathering intel or… working. Various tasks.” He was trailing off, obviously he didn’t want to elaborate. Perhaps he couldn’t. Or shouldn’t. Whichever.

 

“Recruits, Agents, and Specialists overseen by Corporals, Captains, and Lieutenants?” Amy nodded. “Start top and trickle down.” He was nodding as though he had known where she was going to go with that before she’d finished the sentence.

 

“You think it’s doable.” A statement that was too weak to stand on its own. It was very nearly a question. Mostly it was a request… but why would he need her to reaffirm something he already knew?

 

“Give time. Exsss. Ex amples. Prob-ah-bobly have t’be made.” He was nodding again, as if he knew that. Mabari-faced ass jackal…. Ok, that was definitely an insult worth practicing.

 

“How do you know Siheta didn’t simply over-hear something the wrong way?” Cullen asked.

 

“Don’t.” Amy scoffed. “She say to me. I tell you.” She shrugged. “Should I nau…naht?”

 

“No.” Cullen was quick to answer. “No…I suppose I am simply surprised.” He eyed her. “You are… how shall I put this?” He scanned the horizon before returning his attention to her. “You’ve gained a reputation as a bit of a mystery. One that doesn’t want to be solved. I am surprised that you shared that so readily.”

 

“Don’t like talkin’bout self. S’bad. S’sad.” Amy muttered, finding it difficult to maintain eye contact. She knew she needed to though. “Out here s’diff rent. Have to trust y’have my back. Can’t if y’don’t know.”

 

He was smiling, and this time it didn’t seem patronizing or mischievous. It was… good. Simple.

 

“I think I understand why Samuel places such resilient faith in you.” He said, squinting just slightly as though he needed to do so to see her properly. “You have a …something. I’m not sure what it is either, but it’s genuine.”

 

“Wehl.” Amy scoffed, giving him a withering look. “So many flavors, and you gon’ be salty.” She grumbled.

 

Cullen snorted out a laugh. “Oh, is that what I am?”

 

“Mm-hm.” Amy murmured, puckering her lips as if she’d bitten into something extremely salty and bobbing her head back and forth rapidly as though she were a bobble head. Cullen chuckled softly, unable to stop himself and gaining the attention of a few of his men.

 

“Pick your mages, Miss Amy.” He said. “And I shall see you bright and early.”

 

“8 bells?”

 

He nodded. “Oh, and, Amy?” He surveyed the training yard before looking back to her. “Bring all of the strange that you want to. Throw all that addled energy at them like they should expect it.” He became somewhat grim and yet there was still a strange sort of humor in his eyes. “No matter what, _your_ behavior doesn’t change _their_ orders.”

 

Amy blinked before crossing her arms over her chest in a salute. “Ser!” she said with a shit-eating grin.

 

A repressed chuckle managed to escape, though only twice or so before he turned and left her.

 

Amy smirked all the way to her little huddle of mage friends.

 

…Mage friends. She had mage friends now. Wow. Realizing that felt so good.

 

“So?” That came from Macie.

 

“Good.” Amy looked at her usual trio plus Siheta. Hm. This could work. “You four will…walk with me… tomorrow.”

 

Baxtien blinked, shifting from foot to foot before hunching forward. He was still so skinny. “Truly? We’re supposed to accompany you tomorrow?”

 

Amy nodded. “Will be lots walkin’.” She said only partially apologetic.

 

“Dear, I’m actually Dalish…” Elossa said as if the vallaslin on her face wasn’t enough of a reminder. “We walk everywhere.” The elf finished as she attempted to swat away Amy’s concerns as if they were the empty air she was swatting beside her head.

 

“And we’re circle mages.” Macie said with a tiny nod. “So…we are accustomed to pain.” Baxtien huffed out a single laugh.

 

Amy looked to Siheta. “Might… not see any …thing.”

 

Siheta blinked. “I’ve done much more for a much less, Amy. I’m more concerned with your safety. And Samuel’s, but no one’s really allowed to worry over him, are they?”

 

Amy nodded, leaning into the semi-circle these four made. “You four… You are.. A team. Now.” She pointed to them all. “Need… t’close ranks. Keep every…thing… beeh tween…your. Selves.” She ground her molars together. It wasn’t a great solution, but it was all she had. “Unless… Samuel, Coh-man-der, or Night-en-gale says other wize.” She watched them all absorb that, nodding with varying expressions. Overall, they were all accepting of this… they were ready to do more than huddle here.

 

“There you are!” Varric’s voice was very much like a whip crack. Amy wasn’t the only one who snapped back, and it was only then that she realized how much their little huddle looked like a conspiratory gaggle of gossips. “I have scoured the stables looking for you, Serah.” He said, sauntering up to her. “Flissa needs you in the tavern twenty minutes ago.”

 

Amy’s face rippled with surprise and confusion. Firstly, it wasn’t that late. She couldn’t imagine why Flissa would need her _now_. And Secondly… “Not mess-ahnger.” Amy grunted in Varric’s general direction.

 

He nodded, rocking back on his heels slightly as his arms crossed over his chest. The entire posture reeked in the most magnanimous fashion. “True. But Flissa’s there now, and if she should leave for even a second, Adan might just kill Segrit.”

 

Amy blinked owlishly at him, but he only smirked and nodded as if he understood and was somehow enthusiastic about the entire situation. Amy imagined that he had plenty of good stories to tell from this…

 

She turned back to her magical quartet, still a touch gobsmacked.

 

“Go ahead and go, Amy.” Siheta said smoothly. “I’ll get them up to speed, and maybe we can see you later. Perhaps lunch or something.” She said shrugging.

 

Amy blinked rapidly and nodded. “Yeah. Abso-lute-lee.” She took a deep breath, bracing herself as she followed Varric.


	15. Such as I have

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> =..= It's been a long week. I'm... I'm actually really tickled by this whole chapter. It went... I dunno, I just had this idea of what would happen and then as I started writing, it went in a different direction. Not a bad direction, mind you. Just different.
> 
> Also, in the span of seven days I've moved my massive hoard of books, movies, and....other things... and it's cramped but cozy in here now :) I'm hoping once the aches and pains of moving wear off, I'll be able to put myself on a better schedule of sorts.
> 
> Anyway! On to the chapter!

The thing about Varric Tethras is that he’s a storyteller. He can spin out stories with about as much effort as it took Amy to draw breath.

 

So, when Varric said that Flissa couldn’t leave the tavern because Adan could kill Seggrit at any moment, Amy had assumed that _perhaps_ this statement contained a hint of…embellishment.

 

…She was wrong. Chalk it up to one of the rare times Varric Tethras is 100% truthful.

 

When they arrived, there was a shouting match (that could be heard outside) going down. Upon entering, the two found Seggrit and Adan on opposite ends of the room. Seggrit had wisely placed obstacles in Adan’s way, and the two were circling one of the long tables (ovaling?). Flissa was wringing her hands while hovering in that gap that divides the front of the bar from behind the bar.

 

Amy’s arrival made for a distraction if nothing else. Seggrit turned to look at her, and every bit of noise died as he eyed her slowly down and then up again. And then he stared. At length.

 

Which was a foolish move, as Adan used this to make time and close the distance between them. Flissa darted forward, as if this were a cue she’d been waiting for. She held surrender hands up towards Adan, who slowed down but was still eyeing Seggrit like he could cheerfully murder him.

 

“Whoa…” Amy murmured like she was around a spooked horse.

 

“And who is this?” Seggrit gruffed in a very Seggrit fashion.

 

“That’s right. You haven’t met Charmer before, have you Seggrit?” Varric asked.

 

“No.” Seggrit’s tone was almost lazy, and he did that whole ‘eying up and down’ thing again. It’s a little much. “I have not.” Varric’s eyes narrow at the man, and Amy could visibly see Adan grinding his molars.

 

“Sit.” Amy says, pointing to the end of the table (where Varric usually sits). Seggrit took a moment to blink, but Amy just looked at Adan and pointed to the opposite end of the table (where Sam usually sits), and said, “Sit.” As well. Adan took a deep breath and damn-near stomped to his end of the table. Seggrit was eyeing her still, and Amy gave him a smile that was mostly just a bearing of teeth. “Sit, or. I will. Make you.” She said.

 

For a moment, she could see him processing this. As if he was contemplating the steps it would take for her to make him sit down… he seemed somewhat intrigued by the prospect. That is, until Amy shifted her weight as if to move forward. Then he sat.

 

“Now.” Amy said with a deep slow tone. This is partly to convey an air of calm which is best for working through a heated argument… but it’s also because it’s a nice pace for her words. “What …seems to be… the problem?”

 

Amy doesn’t like this tone, because she feels like a hybrid of Marcia Brady and Christopher Walken… talk about a match made in hell.

 

“We’re trying to convince Seggrit to help us supply equipment we need for the remedy.” Flissa explained. Now she was standing on the opposite side of the table form Amy, so that both of them were in the middle of the long side of the table.

 

“And the Miser’s only interested in making a profit.” Adan grumbled, slouching back in his chair. Seggrit’s face hardened, his eyes narrowing.

 

“It’s got nothing to do with profit.” He snarled. “It’s the legitimate price for the items you want.”

 

“We talked to Threnn, you ass.” Adan snapped, staring Seggrit down. “She told us the things we want would cost no more than thirty silvers.”

 

“I don’t have the equipment your talking about on hand, Adan.” Seggrit growls, impatience rushing into his tone. “In order to get it, I’d have to order it from Orlais, and that takes serious coin.”

 

“Bullshit!” Adan accused, pointing directly at Seggrit, as if he were identifying Bullshit in the room. Maybe he thought he was.

 

“It’s not bullshit!”

 

“Oh, and what about your much flaunted ‘discount’?”

 

“That _is_ at discount.” Seggrit maintained. “It’s the price that I would pay to have those items sent to me with no bonus for the work I’ll actually have to do.”

 

“Oh please!” Adan flopped back again. “The whole point of this Inquisition is that we’re pooling all our skills to survive whatever cockup is going down! None of us are ‘profiting’!”

 

The thing about Adan is that while he seems like a huge grouch (and… well, he _is_ ), he’s also very passionate about what he does… It’s just that he’s passionate in his own way. Of himself, he demands that tasks be done right and without frippery or fanfare. As much as he complains about being overworked as acting healer (a position he isn't qualified to handle), he wants it done well. He also believes that doing whatever he can to the best of his ability _is,_ in a way, it's own reward. It keeps his skills sharp, keeps him on his toes. And he demands a certain level of commitment of himself and anyone he works with....which is why he tends to butt heads with Seggrit, who's constantly striving to gain instant reward from any of his endeavors. 

 

“Why. Or. Lay?” Amy asked, looking between the three of them.

 

“Chef Darrozé, who’s infamous as the best chef in Orlais, also has a line of cooking equipment.” Flissa explained. “We’re mostly interested in the pots and pans, since they’re supposed to be the best.”

 

Oh. Great.

 

Even Thedas had it’s Rachel Rays.

 

....that's ok.

 

That meant that it was bound to also have it's Julia Childs.

 

“And Threnn said we could get them for 30 silvers.” Adan repeated, and then added, “Seggrit’s sayin’ 70.”

 

“What the fuck does Threnn know about having to _order_ things??” Seggrit exploded. “She’s not a merchant, for fuck’s sake. She puts in orders to fill requisitions, but she doesn’t _order_ anything through legitimate channels! Scouts just bring her shit. So yeah, maybe she knows that the set you want’s gonna be 30 silvers, but she has no idea what it costs to get them here!”

 

“He’s not entirely wrong about that.” Varric murmured though not very loud.

 

“Need those. Specific ones? Just cuz the name’s on it?” Amy asked. “Doesn’t mean most dur-able. We need things…that last. Stand up to wear from …over use. Can’t use standard.” Amy pointed at the table in general. “Know who makes things’at last?” She slowly turned till she was pointing at Varric, who by now was just a wary bystander. “Or-zah-mar.”

 

Varric rocked back slightly, a sly expression on his face. “You wanna bark at the big dogs, Charmer?”

 

Amy smiled softly. “Varric. If merchant’s guild _can’t_ get this. “ She nodded sympathetically, infusing as much over-done understanding in her tone as she could. “We’ll under-stand.”

 

Varric actually laughed. “Oh! Oh, well played. Now I _have_ to help out, don’t I?” he said, shuffling his weight against the table while he crossed his arms. “My status as a legitimate member of the Merchants’ Guild has been challenged.”

 

Amy slide into a shrug. “If you don’t want to help Seggrit out…”

 

“Calm down.” Varric interrupted, holding up a hand. “You try any more of that back arching, hip-swaying charm, and you’re liable to send everyone into an addled state.”

 

Amy had _no_ idea what he was talking about. She was just doing that lackadaisical, sway/spin in place thing that Jamie would do when she ‘played innocent’. It wasn’t sexual….it was coy. There was a difference.

 

Amy clapped her hands with a soft ‘yay’. “Hero.” She cooed.

 

Varric only shook his head before snapping in Seggrit’s general direction. “Hey! Eyes up!”

 

“Lecher.” Adan growled.

 

Amy didn’t see any of what it was they were so offended for. When she turned around, Seggrit was looking away…and a touch blushy. Which was almost cute in that, ‘Oh I’ll laugh at your embarrassment later’ sort of way.

 

For her part, Amy did not reprimand Seggrit. Mostly because he was technically being reprimanded by both Varric and Adan. Also, while lewd behavior wasn’t the sort of thing she wanted to encourage… sex drive is something built into people.. some people more than others. 

 

“Anything else?” Amy asked Flissa, hoping to divert attention from Seggrit. It worked.

 

Flissa practically hopped in place before prancing behind the booth. “One thing!” she called before trotting back. “Here.” She extended her hand and Amy held out her’s to receive whatever she was being offered.

 

Two coins dropped into her palm. “I can finally pay you your wages!” Flissa hissed excitedly.

 

Adan blinked at Flissa, and Seggrit stared at Amy’s outstretched hand. Varric seemed pretty keen on watching both as his gaze ping-ponged back and forth between the two womens' faces.

 

“ _Quoi_?” Amy asked, still not bothering to look. Flissa was so _cute_. She was just so happy and energetic, and for whatever reason she was enjoying paying Amy as though it were some grand personal win.

 

“Yes!” She fidgeted in place a bit. “I, uh. I’d been wanting to really, but Nightingale said it may be more prudent to…wait… Observe you more. Make sure you weren’t going to just nick off at the first chance.”

 

Amy chuckled softly. “Flight risk.”

 

“Something like that!” Flissa said, batting away at the air as though it were as easy to remove ‘Nightingale’s suspicion’. “Anyway, I planted my feet, and I says, ‘It just doesn’t do to let someone who does so much go without’. And you know, Miss Montilyet, she was _just_ horrified. Horrified!”

 

“She’s been here this entire time with no compensation?” Seggrit asked, completely dumbfounded. “I know Chantry folk that are getting paid.”

 

Amy wasn’t really paying much attention because she was having another moment. Her gaze had finally descended to her wages. All two of them. She wasn’t entirely certain what she’d expected, but in her hand were two very shiny golden coins.

 

“What’s the matter, Charmer?” Varric was asking, a smirk on his face and in his tone. “Never come into so much money all at once?” there was teasing there, but an honest question was planted among all that play. Mostly because Varric couldn't pin down Amy's expression. She didn't seem overwhelmed or awed like he'd seem some when they got their first glimpse of gold. In fact, she was rather blasé about the whole thing... it could be shock but... well. She just seemed to accept it but not understand it.

 

“Gold?” Amy finally asked.

 

“Yes!” Flissa chirped, smiling like Amy were Flissa’s little sister and she was so proud to see her efforts rewarded. “We came to the rough estimate of 200 silvers.”

 

…For all of her many skills, Amy was shit at currency conversions and the approximation of worth. She kept trying to remember things she’d read on wiki about currency in Thedas.

 

Let's see...One gold coin was worth one hundred silver and… it wasn’t 1,000 copper. It was bigger than that… was it 10,000? Yes.. That felt right. So, 1 gold was worth 100 Silver and 10,000 Copper. And they called the copper bits here, and the gold was… uh… Sovereigns. Yeah. That sounded right.

 

Of course she had no idea how far 2 gold would go or what it could get her. It went without saying that higher-end items were always going to cost more.... But Amy also remembered a shit-ton of stuff that she bought for bits in Origins and as Hawke.

 

Amy swiveled in place slightly, turning to Varric and offering him the coins. He blinked at her and then let out a startled huff of a laugh.

 

“You wanna buy something else, Charmer?”

 

“Nah.” She said shrugging.

 

The entire room seemed to stop, stare, and boggle. Varric started at the coins in her outstretched hand, then up to her, then his eyes narrowed. “Then why would…” His eyes widened. “I’m _not_ taking your money, Charmer!” he chastised, most empathetically.

 

“What I do wif it! Don’t know where or what t’buy.” Amy asked. “Don’t own coin purse t’keep it.”

 

When Varric rolled his eyes, his whole head nearly rolled with the motion of it. “Then we buy you a coin purse!” he said, completely exasperated.

 

Amy half groaned out a sigh. “Don’t even know what to buy.”

 

“Just to reiterate,” Seggrit said, raising his hand as if he were volunteering to be called on in class. “I _can_ order things.”

 

Amy contemplated that for a moment. What would she buy if she could? What _should_ she buy now that she could? It’s not like she even had a place to keep things that she couldn’t carry on her person.

 

And that was when the idea struck her.

 

“Chocolate. Honeyed wine. Stiff bristle brush and buffing cloth, clean. Horn balm. And. Latest chapter. Swords and Shields.”

 

“What!” Varric nearly exploded. “Don’t, please don’t tell me you read that tripe.”

 

“Don’t.” She said shrugging.

 

“Then why do you need the latest copy?”

 

“Not me. Gift.” She shrugged.

 

“You’re not planning on using that stiff bristle brush on your horse, I hope.” Seggrit was saying, concerned.

 

“No.”

 

Varric crossed his arms over his chest. “Who’s it for, Charmer?" He demanded. "Who’s all of it for?” Amy pretended to fiddle with the coins. “As if I can’t guess. I mean, there aren’t but two people in the Inquisition that can use horn balm.”

 

“Oh!” Flissa giggled. “It’s not all for the Chargers, is it?”

 

“No. Horn stuff for Bull.” She paused and swiveled back to fully face Seggrit. “Better make two of those.” She hoped Siheta wasn’t suffering either, but now that she thought about it…this was be a good precaution.

 

“Who’s the honeyed wine for, Charmer?” Varric drilled, eyes narrowed.

 

Amy’s shoulders sagged, her arms flouncing at her sides. “Nightingale.” She admitted.

 

Varric’s face transformed into outright shock, both mouth and eyes wide and round. “You’re trying to bribe Leliana with wine and chocolate??”

 

“No." Amy rebuked indignantly. "Chocolate for Ruf-els.” Amy corrected.

 

“Who?” Flissa queried.

 

“Ruffles is my nickname for Miss Montilyet.” Varric explained, still staring down Amy. Because he hadn’t ever referred to Josephine around Amy. He knew it and she knew it. But he wasn’t going to say anything about it now.

 

“She works. Hard.” Amy defended with another flouncey shrug.

 

“Let me get this straight.” Seggrit began. “You’re gonna spend your first two sovereigns on a couple of friends, someone who barely knows you exist, and someone who may want to kill you..?”

 

Flissa, Varric, and Adan all glared at Seggrit for saying this. Mostly because while everyone joked about Leliana’s penchant for murder, they didn’t want to acknowledge that it could happen. Especially not where Amy was concerned. They were all strangely protective of her… even Adan, it seemed.

 

Amy shrugged again. “Yeah.” Her tone demonstrated how obvious she figured the entire situation was.

 

“You’re just giving your money away.” Seggrit stated, baffled.

 

Amy did understand Seggrit’s confusion. He was from the school of thought that expected a measure of savings should be kept. And maybe he was right.

 

Amy knew she could very well purchase clothes for herself. Things that were nicer, looked better, or were a better fit. But this wasn’t Val Royeaux, so her options were still very, _very_ limited.

 

And it seemed like a waste to spend money on stuff for herself that she couldn't wear on her person since… since she had no idea if or when she’d leave it all behind. And they would. They would leave Haven buried and head for Skyhold. It was impractical to worry over _things_ with that looming in the distance.

 

And she _could_ keep the money. Hoard it up till she’d actually need it. But who knew if she’d be able to keep it. Anything could happen. She could encounter someone on the field that actually wanted to kill her. Hell, she could fall off of Voltaire and break her neck. Or one day Leliana would decide enough was enough, and then what? She’d have saved it all for nothing.

 

Amy technically had everything she'd need to survive already... there were little comforts and needs that people were going to need right now.

 

Also.. Well. She smiled at Seggrit. “If I give it away, no one can take it from me.” 

 

Seggrit’s eyes rounded, shining slightly. He looked taken aback, offended, and then somehow hurt. Finally he just stared at her with this strange awestruck expression…

 

Amy was not used to having this range of emotion directed at her… And that it came from Seggrit!… well. In for a penny..

 

Oh wait! In for a bit, in for a sovereign!… no. It didn’t have the same ring.

 

“I’ll..” Seggrit’s dazed drawl drew Amy out of her musings. “I’ll see about that order, then.”

 

And before Amy could thank him, the door to the tavern was kicked open.

 

Literally.

 

By Macie, of all people.

 

She held a small wrapped dish in each hand.

 

“Get it while it’s hot!” She called, shimmying her hips while standing in place.

 

“Oh, for the love of—” Baxtien’s disapproving groan was ignored entirely as Macie, and Elossa filed into the room. Eventually he also marched into the room with Siheta behind him.

 

All four mages were carrying two wrapped dishes. Wait, strike that.

 

Siheta had three… somehow she balanced one between her forearm and her hip while carrying the other two in her hands.

 

Elossa took a look around the room before staring at Siheta in shock. “How did you know?”

 

“A guess.” Siheta murmured, setting one of the dishes in front of Seggrit. The other two she set before the empty chairs by him, then she looked back towards Varric and nodded towards the empty place on the other side of her. “Well. Come on then.” She muttered.

 

Varric gave Amy an amused look of disbelief.

 

Baxtien sat by Adan and offered him the other meal, while Elossa gave her spare to Flissa. Macie gave Amy her extra…and then (wonder of wonders!) all nine of them sat and ate together.

 

“Siheta was adamant about making sure everyone could have lunch.” Elossa murmured at one point. She was seated between Amy and Flissa.

 

“Food is important.” Siheta defended. Though she sounded quite staid, Amy wondered if perhaps this was something Siheta was passionate about. The Vashoth seemed on a mission. She sat up straighter and eagle eyed everyone to make certain they were actually eating. “Besides. We will all need our strength. We have a lot of planning to do.”

 

Amy observed Siheta as they ate. Of course, the woman was correct. They would all have to discuss and plan, and they would need their strength… She wondered how Siheta was coming to all these conclusions.

 

She would make a point of talking with her in private. Amy had a lot of questions of her own…

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...um...I don't know if anyone's interested, but I'm starting to make YouTube videos again...and... I mean. I guess I could make one about this story o..o if that was a thing people might want.


	16. The Magnificent Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok........ok......
> 
> ...I'm just gonna shut up, because this chapter's a touch intense, and...and....and you guys just need to read it.

 

It was a couple of hours before the awesome mage quartet was released from duty. Adan and Flissa informed them of the measures that they were taking, and somehow they were inducted as liaisons between ‘production’ and ‘the Mages’. Even Seggrit weighed in on a few things, much to Adan’s chagrin…though he was no where near as antagonistic as he had been before. Probably because he was being  _very_ attentive to Amy about this order of things she wanted...which annoyed the piss out of Varric. 

 

Amy remembered lines of dialogue as the game progressed. There were times in the game when Adan seemed so pissed at Seggrit for being a bastard, and then later on she remembered a change in tone. There was a line that an assistant said to Adan about Seggrit offering something without it costing. When Adan grew suspicious, the assistant said something about Seggrit wanting people to like him.

 

Amy wondered how that had come about. In game, it seemed as if Seggrit wanted to be accepted by his peers… but it could also be a ploy to have a better image. Still. It was progress, and she was glad to see it happening. Because she didn't see a lot of evidence of it in game, seeing it play out in front of her was that much more of a treat.

 

As much as she enjoyed the sense of accomplishment that accompanied their planning sessions, she was glad to see everyone return to their respective corners. It made her feel as though she'd earned the chance to go and help the elf servants with laundry.

 

This was a great thing. Because folding and stacking sheets, tunics, and pants was automatic. She could do it with her eyes closed. It allowed her to shut down all the attempts to communicate and just think.

 

Sometimes the elves would be chatty. If they weren’t busy, especially. They would ask her questions, and more often than she liked, ask her to sing for them. She did, of course… because the elves were over-worked and under appreciated. They deserved every courtesy she could afford.

 

Amy was surprised when she encountered Siheta as she left the chantry.

 

“We need to talk.” Was all the silver-skinned woman said before ambling towards the side of the chantry. The two of them ended up along the side of the building in the bushes and trees where (if things progressed according to the game) Threnn would be attacked by Coryphy-shit’s forces.

 

Siheta reached into her cloak, and Amy barely got to see a flash of coral pink and aqua before she was handed a wrapped bundle of…something.

 

“Careful.” Siheta warned with a soft smile, unwrapping her own bundle. “It’s probably still hot.”

 

It felt warm to the touch, which was fantastic against her knuckles. Amy unwrapped it and was surprised to find a sweet potato inside. She practically squealed at the sight of it. She bit into it and then puffed cold air into hallowed cheeks just to balance out the nearly-too-hot morsel.

 

Worth it.

 

Amy tried not to complain…after all, she was being fed as a charity from the Chantry… But Ferelden food was about as dismal as anyone who’d played the games would expect. Seriously? Were they rationing salt for fuck’s sake? It definitely translated as an English culture _before_ there were enough spices about to make the food appetizing. 

 

Amy had eaten English food that was quite tasty, seeing as her Mother was English originally. Well. Recovering English, she liked to joke. A good English protestant can’t marry an Irish Catholic without certain someone’s getting upset, after all.

 

“Amy.” Siheta’s voice pulled Amy out of her woolgathering sharply. So much so, that Siheta laughed at the look of utter surprise on Amy’s face. Her eyes round, she stopped chewing and just stared like a squirrel who suddenly questioned whether or not he’d left the gas on at home.

 

Siheta tried again, fighting a smirk this time. “I don’t want to upset you, but…” Siheta paused before continuing as delicately as she could. “You don’t really _belong_ here, do you?”

 

Amy had to remind herself to chew again. There was a lump in her throat, which meant the lump of sweet potato was going to have a difficult time making it to her stomach.

 

Siheta didn’t follow up on that with anything. She simply let it sit and took another bite. She didn’t seem upset or even all that curious.... It was like.... Like, she knew and she just wanted Amy to verify it.

 

Amy finally swallowed her mouthful. “How?” she asked finally.

 

Siheta took another tiny eternity chewing before she finally answered. “You just aren’t like us. In any way. At first I thought you were so quiet, and that maybe it was because of the red lyrium or whatever happened to you at the temple.” She took another bite and the bobbled her head back and forth (which, honestly, looked adorable even with horns—possibly because of the horns especially). “I had to really listen before I could tell.”

 

Amy blinked at Siheta, finding it very interesting that Siheta talked of ‘listening’ almost in a similar fashion as Cole would.

 

“At first, I couldn’t figure it out. Because everyone has some semblance of song in them. No one is silent, not even dwarves.” She paused, surveying the tree branch at her left critically. “It worried me, because I thought maybe something was wrong with you. But then time went on, and it was apparent that you were fine, flourishing, thriving on a thread of hope.”

 

Amy’s heart did an odd tug and double beat. It sounded so much like Cole. Or like when Cole and Solas would talk in Party Banter (party banter was _never_ frequent enough as far as Amy was concerned). The longer they talked, the more Siheta sounded… fade-touched… if that was a thing.

 

“And if that was so, if you were hale, hearty, and whole, then that meant that you weren’t broken. You were as you were meant to be…. Which meant, that how you are was intrinsically different from how everyone else in Thedas is.” Siheta’s eyes returned to Amy’s. “So… I assume that means that you aren’t made like us because you aren’t meant to be here with us.”

 

“Yes.” It came out like a whining sob, snapped back by a catch of breath. Abrupt and undefined, but Siheta nodded as though she understood.

 

“It hurts you.” She said. “Because you care for us so much.”

 

“Yes.” A wounded whisper waiting for retaliation. Waiting to be told she had no right, that it wasn’t her place. The rebuke never came. Only a soft smile deepening into something affectionate. “Know. Know them. In kwa zihshun. Inner. Circle.”

 

Siheta was nodding again. “You hold them tightly, fond even when you don’t fawn. You care so much. You worry _so much_.” Siheta shook her head. “And your heart grows and grows as you meet more people. You just keep taking us in and wanting us well. Cared for. And you worry we won’t want you. Because you worry that you’re broken and you don’t belong.”

 

Amy swallowed thickly, her gaze dropping to her sweet potato. She clutched it with both hands. She felt Siheta’s fingers tip her chin up before she realized what was happening.

 

“You are not in the wrong.” Siheta declared almost fierce in her manner, though her words were warm. “And you are not damaged.”

 

Amy had been asking herself the fundamental question of philosophy ever since she woke in Thedas. The question that Leonardo DiCapro highlighted, though it goes as far back as Plato.

 

In essence, she couldn’t help but think that perhaps it was possible that her current reality wasn’t real at all.Perception colors reality for everyone, and Amy always felt that remaining objective was a better part of seeing the true reality.

 

However….After a while, that question didn’t matter. Whether it was _really_ real or not, it was _her_ reality. And the people in it mattered to her, even if she didn’t. Even if she was damaged, or if this was some weird Total Recall incident.

 

…And somehow. Siheta knew.

 

Siheta smiled at her, her manner relaxing into something that almost seemed matronly. “I’m going to tell you something about me. One of my deepest, darkest secrets.” Amy blinked. “Mostly because I know that you don’t know it, and I know it will be safe with you.”

 

Amy snickered softly at that. Siheta was very quickly joining her in the club of people who knew things even when they really weren’t supposed to and how they heck were they DOING that?

 

“My mother was Saarebas.”

 

Amy winced, and Siheta only paused long enough to observe her reaction. Once Amy winced, it was obvious to Siheta knew that Amy understood the implications of her mother’s station. She didn't elaborate. They were both grateful.

 

“Her unit took on heavy casualties, and her commander went rogue…. Or, I should say her Arvaarad went Tal-Vashoth as it were.” She shrugged. “When he did, he released my mother from her bindings and gave her the choice of what she wanted to do. She wanted a life that was hers.”

 

Her smile turned… something. It was still affectionate, but there was something else. As if Siheta were remembering the punchline to an inside joke or something.

 

“Eventually, they began to travel together exclusively. And then they began to sleep together….and then, well.” She grinned at Amy. “They each wear a necklace that’s laced through half of a dragon’s tooth now.”

 

“Awwww.” Amy cooed.

 

Amy prided herself on understanding many of the people, places, history, and politics of Thedas. Learning something new was thrilling, and the fact that Siheta was telling her about her parent's love story… well! At some point in the very distant future, she needed to remember to tell this to Cassandra. She’d appreciate the passion of it.

 

Siheta chuckled. “They’re still inseparable.” She muttered, almost as an aside. “When my mother got pregnant… they were both happy, but also….very worried. The life of Tal-Vashoth so near Saheron…it’s not good. So, they agreed that they would try to get away. Somewhere further south. Maybe Antiva or somewhere along the coast of the Free Marches.”

 

Siheta sighed. “It was a grueling journey. Especially because my mother was so sick.” She shook her head. “I was born very unhealthy, and my mother turned to the Fade. She sought out aid from spirits to help her learn to keep me well.”

 

Pat (that is, Patrick McManus the third) had been in fits when his wife Mary had experienced heavy stress in her final trimester. He’d done everything he could to bottle that up until he could _just_  'rage it out with Da'. He was attentive and doting with his wife and eventually his son, but during all that stress he'd internalized it so that it wouldn't hurt them. And that had been in a world where a doctor was a phone call away, with modern medicine and all its comforts…

 

Amy could not fathom the stress involved with giving birth in the wilds of Thedas, and then having the child turn out sickly on top of that. Siheta's mother must have been so desperate... the idea of a Qunari turning willingly to spirits that had been vilified... That alone spoke to the severity of the situation.

 

“She was told that my spirit was barely there.” Siheta forged ahead, undaunted as was her way it seemed. “That I would die, though not from any physical ailment…. She pleaded for any help they could give.” She smiled. “They helped my mother keep me whole….and they are still with me.”

 

Siheta seemed to be pulling herself out of her memories. “One day, when I was much older, I went into the fade on my own as I slept, and they named themselves to me. One was Foresight, another was Prudence, one was Initiative, and also Ingenuity. But the greatest of them were two of equal standing. Love and Fortitude. These six spirits had been with me since before I was born, and when they introduced themselves to me, I said, ‘I’ve been waiting so long for you!’.” She chuckled softly. “Children can be so candid.”

 

“You knew?” Amy asked.

 

“I had known forever.” Siheta said with a half chuckle. “It was like… like relatives that are always in the background. Only, I didn’t want them to feel awkward, so I played along. Pretended that I couldn't sense them.”

 

Siheta’s eyes met Amy’s and she smiled conspiratorially. “Truthfully?” Amy nodded for Siheta to continue. “I believe that Love and Fortitude were always near my parents. The others drew near because those spirits are very magnanimous and charismatic. Spirits can be remarkably like people.” She shrugged. “When the trouble… after my birth came about, when my mother asked for their help… they put bits of themselves inside my ailing soul. Only a small piece of each, so that I could not corrupt them nor bind them, and vice versa.” She smiled at Amy’s awed expression. “I do not think I am being overly dramatic when I say that I am as much their child as I belong to my parents.”

 

“That. So. Oh my god.” Amy’s hands went to her head and she made a small explosion sound as if to say her mind was blown. Amy felt herself freeze for a second before she hurriedly asked.“Are they... ok?” she made a vague motion towards the sky (specifically the Breech).

 

“Yes. I mean...” It was obvious that whatever it was that was going on was handled, even if hard to explain. “They aren't exactly with me presently. I always feel somewhat connected to them though.” She half smiled, almost sheepishly. “I see them every night when I dream, and they are usually more concerned about me than the other way around.”

 

“Ah.” Amy nodded. “Fade not physical. Forget sometimes. You go to them...because of... connection.” Siheta nodded, and Amy was pretty certain that if she didn't have all the nuanced parts of it down, she at least understood the basic concept properly. Long story short (too late), Siheta's spirit parents were at minimal risk.

 

Siheta chuckled. “I like to think that the better parts of them are in me…but sometimes, their faults show up as well.” She looked a little repentant. “I did not approach you because of prudence, and because I could not foresee having a smooth answer. I was worried it would hurt you, or that I wouldn't be able to help. It took time to see the answers were already there. It took time to remind myself to look.”

 

“You grieve too.” Amy reminded. Siheta had been so depressed when Amy had first seen her.

 

“Yes…” Siheta stood, shoulders back and head tipped morosely forward. A moment of silence for the men and women in her mercenary group that she had lost at the conclave. People she still mourned, but she couldn’t let their dead weight bog her down. So. She trudged forward. “I suppose that didn’t help.”

 

Amy had been hesitant to approach Siheta as well. She remembered staring at the woman as Siheta had stared back at her. She’d been so caught up in admiring her too. It was almost laughable. Amy wondered if there was a mod like that back in her world, because Siheta’s hair wasn’t like any Qunari hair in the game.

 

It was in a high ponytail that wrapped into a small bun before hanging down off the curve of her head. Her bangs framed her face, and her hair was a shade that wasn’t quite silver. It was a bit darker than her skin actually… perhaps nickel was a better name for it. Either way, it was interesting to note her soft features, her amethyst eyes, and all of this was accompanied by the most adorable smattering of freckles. It left the Qunari (who wasn’t even Qunari really) somewhere between etherial and adorable.

 

“But I needed to tell you. Because I know that you know things as well, though you don’t discern these things as I do. You are one of a kind, worried and wounded, but you wish everyone well.” Siheta paused letting that sink in before continuing. “I am committed to helping you… I think, maybe I need to help you.” There was the tiniest pause as Siheta considered what was left of her sweet potato. “And I think you need my help.” She murmured quietly before taking a bite.

 

…Amy took a breath and then continued to eat as well. The two women just stood there, eating in companionable silence. The sweet potatoes posed no threat of burning now. They were the perfect warm temperature without being nearly-too-hot.

 

“When was the last time you had a decent night’s sleep?” Siheta asked.

 

Amy shrugged. “S’ok. But. Don’t fade.” When Siheta’s gaze sharpened, she added. “At least, don’t dream.”

 

That made the woman’s eyes widen in alarm. “That…cannot be good.” Amy nodded. “Is that normal where you’re from?”

 

After a moment of thought Amy shrugged. “Not… for me. But some say.” She surveyed the sky through the trees before continuing. “T’said that…dreams help us. Help process things. Work out…issues, fears, problems and..” Amy swatted the air absently, “…such.”

 

Siheta’s eyebrows rose slightly. “Sort of the same thing happens here….but with different results, depending upon the dreamer.”

 

Amy’s head cocked to the side as she focused on Siheta more keenly. “R’yu a dreamer?”

 

“You mean, am I one of those mages who can acutely control their dreams and the dreams of others?” Siheta asked with a smile before nodding. “To a point. I’ve never really tried pushing it.” Siheta sighed. “I can’t say for certain… I obviously will need more time, but this inability of yours to connect to the fade? That could be a bigger part of your problems.”

 

Siheta took the wrapping and reached for Amy’s as well. Now that they’d both consumed their sweet potatoes, it was unnecessary to simply cling to the… to the… what was that? Some sort of… waxy leaf? Huh..

 

“What’s all this then?” A voice asked, intruding through the branches.

 

Amy didn’t recognize them, but they were obviously soldiers. Three of them. One was in all leather armor, but the other two were in variations of chain mail. Both wore breastplates, but only one was wearing vambrace, gauntlets, greaves and boots to match. The other had reinforced leather items.

 

Why were they up on the side of the cliff? …They were coming over towards them.... where Threnn had been ambushed, like they’d planned to scale it for some reason… It made Amy’s skin prickle, and not just because they were coming from high ground and they technically had her and Siheta backed against a wall.

 

There was curiosity and then there was whatever they had. It was maligned with cruelty, whatever it was.

 

“Go away.” Amy practically thundered, her shoulders rising up like the arch of a threatened cat’s back as she leaned forward. Her stance was not only alert now, it was aggressive. Ready to pounce.

 

They stopped, but their presence was no less bellicose. Even if they weren’t honing in on them, Amy could see them calculating. They tried to amble forward casually, but they were too tightly knit together to accomplish it. They still moved like a unit… They were re-evaluating her, and she in turn took the time to measure them up. They were surprised for some reason. Surprised at her words and the steel in them.

 

“Would you listen to that?” The one in leather snarked. “We come here out of the goodness of our hearts to check on the shifty bints on the side of the chantry, and we’re the ones bein’ barked at.”

 

“Leave or I lay you out.” Amy growled.

 

“You think you can threaten us?” This from the one waring the shiny gauntlets and greaves.

 

Amy reached up for the tie of her cloak. She cast it off and rotated her shoulders just before cracking her neck. “No threat.” She said, eyes darting among them. Looking for weak spots and considering strategy. “Promise.”

 

Group fighting was messy. It needed specific footwork… she hoped they were underestimating her, because it would help. It always did.

 

She’d need to pick one of the two on the sides and disable him somehow. The one in leather wasn’t wearing heavy armor, but he was favoring his left leg… she could use that.

 

The one with the gauntlets looked like the meanest son of bitch she’d ever seen. And she was trying to remember if she’d seen him, specifically. Because she saw a lot of faces, and some had been disgruntled… but he didn’t stand out. None of them did.

 

Stragglers? Were they in agreement with members of a group, jockeying for favor? They couldn’t have been in very good standing as there were only three of them.

 

“You think the Commander and the higher-ups would support this… covert magey fracas you’ve got going on here?” Breastplate asked from his spot in the center.

 

Amy really wanted to point out that a fracas was only a fracas if it was noisy disturbance….and thus, by definition, a fracas could not be covert. That was the smartass in her, and it wasn’t going to do much good right now.

 

“Are you leaving?” Amy growled, and they looked between themselves in confusion. “Then, I’mma hurt you.” She said dropping into a low horse stance.

 

It surprised them, but it didn’t intimidate them. It only confused them….and they weren’t leaving, which meant they did _mean_ to fight.

 

Any ordinary soldier would try to calm her down, perhaps suggest they move somewhere more visible so that everyone felt more comfortable. These guys were not patrolling soldiers.

 

They were looking for trouble.

 

And they were about to get it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sips coffee then calmly sets the mug down* So... 
> 
> I'mma make that YouTube video soon. So, if you have a question that you'd like me to address in that video (☞ﾟ∀ﾟ)☞... now's the time to leave it in the comments or message me on Tumblr.


	17. Sucker Punch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry it took so long! I'm not even gonna bother dragging the author's note out! Here it is!

 

The cold bit harder into her joints, the wind now more of a factor as she’d removed her cloak.

 

But Amy honestly didn’t give a fuck.

 

She was staring down a threat, evaluating, plotting, planning.

 

_‘Take out the one in leather on the outside. How? His leg seems injured. Use it. Once he’s disabled moved to the one in the center. Move quick. Choke hold…but… the last one. The third one is a problem. He’s wearing the most armor, and if he can react in enough time. That’s a liability. Keep chocking. Keep breastplate between us. Incapacitate Breastplate, and then evade Greaves. Keep at a distance till he’s tired. Strike when he gets sloppy.’_

 

“Now, now…” Leathers was saying. “No need for the death stare.”

 

And then the idiot made for the dagger at his waste, like that was gonna fuckin’ happen.

 

Amy darted forward and heavily to the right till she was on Leathers’s side. She kicked at his left knee and then grabbed his right ankle and pulled, hard.

 

This was a combo that didn’t just blow out his knee. Oh no. It lengthened his stance in the wrong way, overextending it significantly. Too much. The man let out a yowl of pain that was a touch squeaky on the end.

 

A pulled groin muscle. He’d have a hell of a time getting himself upright again without help.

 

Amy heard something that sounded like a sledgehammer hitting the trunk of a car (something Conner had done once. Long story; wrong time, wrong place).

 

She looked over and watched Greaves sail backwards into the trees after Siheta launched a massive Stonefist, which struck him directly in the center of his torso.

 

What was even more fascinating was that the rock simply crumbled and then dissipated until it wasn’t even dust any more….it was just…something that wasn’t. Just like Greaves’s presence.

 

Who was equally fascinated by this display? Breastplate. He actually _turned_ his back on Amy to look for his companion. Stupid. _Stupid_ man.

 

She rushed forward from behind and grabbed his arm, flipping him by using his own weight and momentum.

 

Once he was prone she knelt on his chest, placing both knees on his biceps before criss-crossing her arms in front of his neck and grasping his clothes, hunching forward and bearing he weight down on those points. Just those points: his biceps, his sternum, and his throat.

 

She felt his pulse spike against the back of her hand as he realized he couldn’t breathe. She felt it race even faster when he tried to reach for her to dislodge her, but his arms were pinned securely, and his muscles were running low on oxygen now.

 

He floundered and batted at her where he could reach, but there was no force that he could generate, and no way to gain leverage.

 

His eyes rolled back into his head, and he went slack.

 

Amy was busy counting, and she released a breath as she released him. He was well and truly out, but she’d let go before even 40 seconds had passed. It always felt like an eternity. Still. It took much more than that for permanent damage.

 

Amy looked up to find Leathers, still crouched in that wrong position, starring at her in horror.

 

“What in Andraste’s name is going on here?”

 

Amy looked up to find…

 

Oh. She knew him. He was a Captain for one of the adept fighter groups. Second row, on the edge of the line nearest the mages. What was his name? Connelly?…Maybe?

 

“She tried to kill us!” Leathers shouted.

 

Amy sprung up without thinking about it, and backhanded him across his face. “Shut yur whore mouth!” she growled.

 

When she looked back, Connelly (or whoever he was) had his brows up high and he was trying very hard not to have an expression. The two soldiers with him (a woman in armor, and a man in leathers) were not faring so well in this endeavor.

 

“Get. Co man der.” Amy requested.

 

“I suppose we’d better had.” Connelly murmured. “Jones? Go and get Commander Cullen.”

 

“Right away, Ser.” The man in leathers said before trotting off.

 

Amy looked back at Leathers, who was having a hell of a time keeping himself upright. It was a bit of a curse….a double-edged sword of sorts. He didn’t want to remain the way he was, but he couldn’t draw his legs in without a massive about of pain.

 

Amy sighed and looked at Siheta. “Heal him.” She said in much the same frustrated fashion in which she’d say ‘bitch, please’.

 

“Please?” Leathers croaked. Siheta smirked before casting a spell to heal him.

 

Amy stood, keeping her fists tightly clasps so they wouldn’t appear shaky. The rush was over, but she was left with an excess of adrenaline.

 

She took in a deep breath through her nose and held it before slowly letting it out of her mouth. She focused on drawing air in, even expanding her stomach so that her brain would switch out of the fight or flight phase.

 

“Are you all right?” this came from the warrior woman beside Connelly.

 

Amy nodded. “Dren..Ah dren lin.” She said by way of explanation.

 

“Perhaps we could draw ourselves out of the tree line?” Connelly suggested, leading by example and stepping back into the open. Now _that_ would be how a proper soldier would handle the situation.

 

Siheta reached down and grabbed Breastplate’s foot as she walked, dragging the man along. As for Leathers, he darted forward, turning only when he reached the officer in charge. Once they’d cleared the tree line, Amy felt much safer because others were there.

 

“What is this?” This came from Cullen, who looked about ready to murder someone.

 

“I’m not entirely sure, Ser, but she requested that we get you.”

 

“Wait…” Amy stopped. “Where Greaves?” she asked, half turning to look back at the tree line.

 

She had enough time to see a gauntlet coming right at her face—it would’ve hit her directly on the back of the head if she had not turned. As it was it hit just above her temple with a force she had not been prepared for.

 

Unlike the fight before, she had no time to think, to make a plan… she just reacted.

 

And her reaction was to use the momentum of the blow to make herself turn in almost a cartwheel. While her body went through this motion, her outside leg (the left one in this case) came out, the heel of her foot striking Greaves as she whriled.

 

It was a move that she’d learned a long time ago, using an opponent’s attack to generate a counter-attack while they weren’t expecting it. There were many techniques, and she had always felt it imperative to simply know them… Muscle memory was a powerful thing.

 

When she landed properly on the balls of her feet still crouched and ready, she took a few scant seconds only to breathe and let her senses realign. She’d only just convinced her brain to stop the fight-or-flight mode, and now it was back on again with a throbbing in her scalp to boot.

 

She looked down at Greaves, and felt her stomach twist. Where had she hit him?? Had it been his cheek or his neck? He was a tall motherfucker, and she hadn’t had the time for precision.

 

She practically threw herself onto her knees, skidding slightly in the slick snow. Her right hand flew to the side of his neck, checking pulse and vertebrae, while her left hovered over his nose and mouth, checking for breath and tongue placement.

 

Her shoulders sagged. “He lives.” She said, feeling relief seep into her bones before anger took hold. “Stupid fucking fucker.” She growled at the unconscious man. She stood and stomped forward.

 

“Are you all right?” Cullen asked.

 

“Is _she_ all right?”

 

“Shut up!” Cullen barked back at Leathers, and Leathers did a suitable impression of dog with it’s tail between its legs.

 

“Fine!” Amy grumbled. “He lives. Could easily not be.” She said pacing as the rage set her skin on fire and her teeth to clenching.

 

“Soldiers give lives for people.” Amy grunted. “That is so. But this? Stupid. Recreant. Child. Fuck!” She panted before stilling. “So. Mad! Mad at my seehlf for re-akting ’stead of akting. Mad at him for…forcing it.”

 

Amy locked her fists, and then pressed her knuckles against each other, letting them meet naturally in the center of her torso. She took a deep breath in through her nose and held it before letting it out.

 

“She’s trying to cope with the excess of adrenaline via a breathing exercise.” This came from Siheta.

 

“Yes…” Cullen said, eyeing Amy in a strange fashion. It was… it was like he was re-evaluating her, somehow on edge…but Amy didn’t know what from. “Yes. I know the technique.” He turned to Siheta. “What happened?”

 

“Amy and I were talking on the side of the chantry in the trees there.” She said, pointing to the side of the building. “There are several things we needed to discuss, but we got distracted because of her health.”

 

“You bloody bints were talking about that Fade shit.” Leathers complained.

 

“We were _discussing_ the fact that Amy has had several problems involving dreams.” Siheta corrected. “I was very concerned.” Much more quietly, so that only Cullen could hear, Siheta added, “Amy has not dreamed since she arrived at Haven.” Cullen’s eyes widened before he turned to look at Amy.

 

Amy wondered if the look on Cullen’s face was a touch envious… or maybe she was just imagining it. She tried to cool her anger and project sympathy. She would certainly understand if he envied her inability to connect with the Fade….especially, considering..

 

Cullen’s gaze came back to Siheta. “I imagine.” He muttered. “And then?”

 

Siheta pointed to leathers, and then Breastplate (who was only just coming to) and then Greaves. “They came over the cliff there and bore down on us. Amy told them to go away, and they did not. Then this one—” she pointed to Breatplate. “Threatened to tell you of our ‘covert magey fraccus’.”

 

“Red’ic’lus.” Amy spat, not pausing from her breathing.

 

“And then this one—” Siheta pointed at Leathers. “Went for his dagger while insulting us.”

 

Amy was suddenly very grateful that Siheta had seen that too. Now that she thought about it, it could very easily be argued that the threat was all something she alone perceived.

 

“We were patrolling!” Breastplate defended. “And _she_ threatened _us_.”

 

“Only after you closed in on us and would not leave.” Siheta corrected.

 

“You’re not on duty.” This came from the woman in armor with Connelly. “In fact, you two are supposed to be off tonight because your division is set for the Hinterlands tomorrow.” Her chin jutted out towards the unconscious Greaves on the ground. “Howarth’s supposed to be on the other side of the stables, maintaining a presence at the wall near the horses’s paddock.”

 

Amy pointed to the woman. “Pro mote her.” She said, happy that Siheta had backed everything she’d assumed and also happy that neither Breastplate nor Leathers claims had spiked her anger. She was… well. She was as close to normal as she was going to be before she fully keyed down.

 

“Talbot.” Leathers growled behind clenched teeth.

 

“Stow it, Bevon.” The woman snapped. “You think we all haven’t heard you and McLeary bitchin’ about her? You think we don’t know what actually happened?”

 

Connelly raised an eyebrow, but the man he was with who was wearing leathers joined in with his opinion. “She’s right.” His man in leathers said. “You two just wouldn’t shut up about how she ‘needed to learn her place’ today. It’s not like you were exactly quiet about it.”

 

“So, these are Hargreaves’ regiment?” Connelly clarified, his eyes narrowed. He regarded Cullen almost regretfully. “Hargreaves boys are next to my own.” He reminded. “I’m sorry that I wasn’t aware of this.”

 

“Like they’d be so vocal around commanding officers.” Talbot snarked.

 

It was only then that Amy noticed that the sun was near to setting. “Tavern…” She murmured, turning to walk down the path.

 

“What? No! Wait a moment!” Cullen actually had to jog to block her path. “You don’t think they’d want you to take care of yourself? You’re in no condition—”

 

Amy planted her feet. “I am fine!”

 

“Amy, you just took a hit straight to the head.”

 

“Pussy.” Amy grumbled down in Greaves general direction.

 

“Oh!” this from the man in leather by Connelly. “Oh, I need to be around when someone tells Howarth she said _that_.” Even Cullen was trying not to smile.

 

Amy narrowed her eyes at Cullen trying to lean very casually forward so that he would step out of her way. But he wasn’t. “You…can’t…leave… because…” his mouth hung open, working soundlessly as he tried to find an answer. Amy lifted her jaw a notch, still leaning slowly shifting forward as if she could push him with little more than her presence. Still he didn’t yield and the two ended up staring at one another, making ridiculous faces as neither backed down.

 

“We should go to the tavern.” Siheta said.

 

Amy threw her arms in the direction of Siheta like Will Smith did for Jada Pinkett.

 

Cullen sighed. “Why?”

 

“Because the regulars there are going to be wondering where she is, along with the soldiers who are there specifically to see her, also… Flissa will worry.”

 

Cullen took a deep breath, and pointed to Amy. “All right. But we are going to relocate as well, to just outside the tavern. So…” he shook his head. “Don’t go anywhere else.”

 

“Fine.” Amy snipped.

 

“Fine.” Cullen’s tone was much more final.

 

“Fine.” Another quiet quip before Amy stomped down the path.

 

Everyone smiled as she opened the door and came inside the tavern… and then their faces all blanked and slipped down into open dismay and concern.

 

“What the fuck?”

 

“Charmer?”

 

“What happened?”

 

“S’alright?”

 

“Are you okay?”

 

“Shhhhh!” Amy said holding her hands up. “I… am… fine.” She grumbled. “Now… drinks?” she half skipped forward through the gap in the bar to reach for the cups and drinks.

 

“Yes.” Bull said. “But first, what the fuck happened to you?”

 

“What?” She asked, half turning and then stilling when the dizziness set in.

 

…That wasn’t good. Ok. Honestly the dizziness _could_ be from all of the blood pressure changes that just recently occurred… Still. Not a good idea to rule out a concussion. In which case.. She _wasn’t_ fine.

 

Where had Siheta gone? Oh. She was probably still outside talking to Cullen.

 

Amy felt something against her shoulder and turned took find a hand there. She blinked at it before looking into Flissa’s concerned eyes. “Amy?”

 

“I’m fine.” Amy said quickly. “Fine.”

 

“What _happened_?” This came from Sam as he rose up from his seat.

 

Amy sighed. “Soldiers.” Amy murmured.

 

“Oh. Oh just that.” Dalish said incredulous as her hands rose in a ‘what?’ sort of expression.

 

“Is fine. I’m fine. One hit. All good.”

 

“Whoa, what?” this came from Varric who put up a hand in a sort of ‘stop’ motion. “Someone _hit_ you?”

 

The solders at the third table seemed to quell, as though by association they were somehow guilty.

 

“Three guys made move. One got lucky. No big.”

 

“Um. That’s big, Charmer.” Skinner growled. “That’s very fucking big.”

 

“Who were these tosspots?” Sera asked, her hand on her hips as she glared at everyone in general but no one in particular.

 

“Um… Names.. Uh…” Oh, what’s-her-name had said all their names, hadn’t she? Hmmm. “Hargreaves boys.” Erupted from her throat. “Took down Bevon and McLeary.” She said with a grin. “Howarth hit.” She said pointing to her head.

 

“Whoa, whoa, wait… Howarth _hit_ you? Like…like _he hit_ you?” This was from one of the younger looking soldiers at the table.

 

The man’s face was so wounded. It was almost like Amy had told him that these men also butchered mabari puppies and wore their heads mounted on their pauldrons or something.

 

Amy just nodded and pointed to the spot just above her temple. “Sucker punch. Came up behind.” She vaguely put her hand around where his fist must’ve been. “Then I turn.” She slowly turned while moving her hand. Mostly to display how it happened, but also because she wasn’t sure what would set off the dizziness.

 

“Where are these men?” This came from Solas.

 

“Cuh…” Amy swallowed, as she damn near said ‘Cullen’. Somehow that felt inappropriate. Especially since there were soldiers here. “Cuh.. Cuh-man-der.” She said at last, pointing towards the door she’d come through.

 

Solas rose and went through that door without any other word. Amy blinked at this, not understanding why in the world _Solas_ was the one to do this. Was he concerned?….why?

 

Sam was very quick to follow him out though.. That was… touching? She wasn’t quite sure what to think about that. She liked it though.

 

Again, a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Amy, you’re bleeding.” Flissa said.

 

Amy reached up, her hand brushing the hair on the side of her head. Her fingers came away red. “Shit.” She whispered.

 

“Do you think you could sit on the bar? I could maybe get something to… oh dear.” Flissa worried her lower lip. “I think everything’s been moved to Adan’s.” She sighed then pointed to Amy. “Your job is to get on the bar so that I’ll be able to see to that injury better. Stay stationary.”

 

“We’ll take care of her, Flissa.” Bull said, rising. Flissa called something by way of thanks as she darted out the door.

 

“Hey.” Amy grunted. “I’m fine. Can do my self.”

 

“As long as you let us watch, Luv.” Sera giggled. Amy only pointed at Sera as if she was naughty and had to be watched by way of response.

 

“You…you think you can get up there all right?” This question laden with uncertainty was from Varric.

 

“Oh yeah!” Amy waved away the concern in a tone that sounded a touch high. “Super flex able. Stretches every morn’in.”

 

Bull was still standing, but he wasn’t walking forward so much as he was hovering very _very_ slowly in the general direction of the bar. “Oh yea?” He asked, conversational. “What sort of stretches?”

 

“Legs most.” Amy put her hands on the bar, then put her weight on her hands before turning herself so that she was seated on the bear. She was in the very center, and she looked down the length of it before a _brilliant_ idea hit her. “Look!” she extended her right leg down the length of the bar and then her left leg in the opposite direction in a perfect split.

 

Varric’s eyes got really wide and Bull’s eyebrows went up.

 

Amy smiled and then pointed to Bull. “Me an Sister do ‘em togehtha now.” He blinked at her. “She was cure~yus, and then she starts stretchin’ with me. Im-prove flex ability.”

 

“That explains a lot actually.” Bull muttered almost absently.

 

Amy giggled at that, because it was damn-near an inside joke. She let her hands walk forwards to the front of the bar till her hips were touching the top of the bar and her back was arched, then she walked it back. It made her back feel a lot better….she wondered if she should start stretching at night as well.

 

Siheta came back inside with Solas right behind her. She stared at Amy on the bar and the turned to look at Bull and Varric. “What the fuck is this?” she asked a touch too calm as she motioned to Amy.

 

Varric winced.

 

Bull stuttered a bit, “Uh… well. We were trying to get her to _sit_ on the bar, and then there was a tangent about flexibility, and now…” he trailed off shrugging, still a little distracted by the woman maintaining a split on the bar.

 

“Shit, if I even know.” Varric muttered. “If I read this shit somewhere, I don’t know that I’d believe it, but it’s right here in front of me.” He said shaking his head.

 

“It is rather impressive.” Solas said, a smirk on his face as he stared at her left foot.

 

“Thanks!”

 

Siheta sighed. “Amy… can you sit _properly_ on the corner here, so that I can see your injur—oh my…” Her eyes widened as she came to the gap in the bar. Amy shuffled to sit ‘properly’ as had been requested, and Siheta carefully pet the side of her hair. “It’s hard to tell with your hair. I should heal this.”

 

“No!” Amy said grasping Siheta’s wrist.

 

“Amy, this could be bad.”

 

“Head wounds. Always bleed much.” Amy reminded. “Sides… want the bruise.”

 

“You _want_ the bruise?” This question came from Varric.

 

Amy stared at him. “I walk tomorrow. They all see it. I won’t… let them… not see it.” If she bared her teeth… well. A mix of passion and the need to control her words.

 

“You got balls, woman.” Bull was saying with a grin.

 

“I know, right?” Sera seconded. “Kinda hot when you’re mad, too.”

 

Amy half snorted.

 

Solas turned to Siheta. “I’m going to see if the other man has woken up just yet.” Siheta nodded at him.

 

“Not up?” Amy asked.

 

Solas shook his head.

 

“You laid him out, just like you said.” Siheta said as she moved closer to Amy’s side. “Let me know if something hurts, ok?”

 

Amy nodded. “Could have killed him.” Amy murmured, slouching.

 

Siheta’s fingers traced over her hair, carefully unhinging her braids and unraveling the strands. It had been ages since Amy had worn her hair loose. Buddha on a bike, she missed it.

 

“And no one would’ve given a single fuck.” Bull growled.

 

“No.” Amy said. “Man had people. Had life.” She reminded. “Is _our_ soldier. And life… precious.” Amy barely heard the door close behind Solas.

 

“Soldiers… they give lives to keep safe. Is so bad, because this fight… was stupid. Wasn’t worth it. Such a waste.” Now that she was more still, Amy certainly felt the throb in her head. And in a few other places. “Wouldn’t have… died fighting enemy.” She shook her head. “Would have died… fighting a fight that… didn’t _need_ to be.”

 

“All right!” Flissa said, coming back in from the other side. “Here we are.”

 

“Ok, can we go back to the part where your more worried about this asshole than yourself, though?” Bull asked.

 

Amy didn’t see the quelling look that Siheta gave Bull. Or the way his hands came up in a huge ‘what??’ shrug, as if he thought the point was valid enough in spite of Amy’s injury.

 

“I’m fine.” Amy grunted back. Amy blinked, looking over at Flissa and Siheta and.. “Hey, Stitches.” She said, surprised and yet happy to see him there.

 

“Hello yourself, Charmer.” The man said with a grin. “This… is probably going to sting as soon as we apply it.” He warned. “You sure you don’t just want Siheta to heal you?”

 

“Sure.”

 

“But, Charmer…” Bull reasserted. “He’s an asshole.”

 

A soldier quickly came in from outside and huddled close to the other soldiers. “It is Howarth.” He said shaking his head.

 

“Who’s Howarth anyway?” Varric asked.

 

“Meanest son of a whore you’ll ever meet.” Another soldier replied. “In with the Vets he is. He’s got a lot of muscle and drive, but…” he shrugged. “A seriously dumb fuck if you ask me…” the man tensed a bit, eyeing Amy almost guilty. As if the profanity he let slip would somehow hurt her more. “I mean...”

 

“Fuckin’ assjackal.” Amy grunted, which somehow instantly put everyone at ease. The day she was deterred by profanity was the day the sun rose in the west. “Team killin’ cockbite.”

 

“You want me to give you a scorpion’s tail?” Siheta asked as she continued to unbraid and finger-comb Amy’s hair.

 

“ _Scorpione_?” Amy asked blankly.

 

Siheta smiled. “It’s a type of braid that goes down the center of your head. It’ll be easier than your last one, but it has more of a tail.” She surveyed the hair that was now down Amy’s back and on the bar. “Especially with all this.” …It sounded like a French braid.

 

“Yeah…” Amy said. Change was natural after all, and that did sound better than piling all that back on top of her head where it would be more of a weight.

 

She blinked as she noticed the soldier’s filing out of the room, the younger one actually waving at her as they left. She suddenly felt very guilty for not having served them drinks. Hopefully they would come again.

 

Now that she was still and not attempting to ‘go go go’, she felt her energy level plummeting. It was a strange ‘drifting in place’ sort of feeling.

 

Then came the stinging Skinner had warned about.

 

“Aw, poor Charmer.” Sera cooed. “If we were alone, I’d pamper you.” She said with a leer.

 

Amy half snorted a chuckle. “Sera. Sweet, but. No.”

 

Sera’s lips pursed. “Ooooh, so you’re sweet on Bull then. Always makin’ cow eyes at him anyhow.”

 

“No.” Amy grunted. “Those my options? You or Bull?”

 

“Well…no, but..”

 

“Cuz, Bull’d still win.”

 

Bull pumped his fist in the air in victory.

 

“That’s not fair. What’s he got that I ain’t got?” Sera demanded.

 

It was out of her mouth before she could even stop herself. “The Iron Cock.”

 

…It was like a whip crack had silenced the room. Responses came slowly.

 

Amy looked over when Siheta disappeared, to find the woman crouched low, both hands still on the bar and her whole body shaking as she tried not to laugh.

 

Then Bull all but roared, smacking a nearby table and the rest of the room descended into guffawing belly laughs.

 

“Oh, Charmer.” Flissa chided in a way that was still jovial.

 

“What??” Amy said, sounding like the helpless little victim. “I… I’m sorry. I’m straight. Can’t help that.” She looked down. “I like cock.” She finally ended that with a shrug.

 

Sera, who was still giggling madly, made a disgusted face.. It would have held more weight if not for the aforementioned giggling.

 

Cullen, Sam, and Solas walked back into the tavern with Leliana. They were eying the still laughing members of the inner circle curiously, but no one asked the question.

 

..thank the Maker.

 

Amy pretended to clap quietly. “New people in tavern. Yay.”

 

Cullen shook his head. “If all this was a ploy to get us in this tavern…” he began the warning without even finishing it, because honestly, everyone could see him fighting a grin.

 

“All right?” Amy asked.

 

Cullen sobered, nodding. For whatever reason, the Chargers seemed to take this as a cue to vacate the premises. She supposed she wasn’t doing her job properly anyway. It wasn’t as if there was much revelry to be had here now.

 

Leliana rounded the men to face Amy.

 

“Are you all right now?” The question came from Leliana of all people. “You look very pale.” Leliana observed. “It’s good to see you taking it in stride, though.” She said.

 

Amy felt her eyes go glassy, just a touch. She remembered the Leliana from Origins, and she knew that Dorothea’s death had caused much of Leliana’s callousness early in their interactions. To hear genuine concern from her…it was touching. Of course, there was a significant chance that the concern wasn’t genuine…but Amy found that she didn’t much care. If this was a play to get her to relax, that was ok.

 

She only nodded, of course. She couldn’t fall to pieces now, could she?

 

“The men who accosted you are on probation. Sam has asked that it remain that way until he returns from his…errand.” Cullen’s voice turned a bit snide on the last word there.

 

“I wish I was certain exactly what one wears to a… ‘Salon’.” Sam said, a little on the snide side himself.

 

“Oh! You go de Fer?” Amy asked.

 

“What’s a de Fer?” Varric asked.

 

“Madame Vivienne.” Amy clarified. “First N’chant~er. Imperial court.” Amy exaggerated her tone to be a little more grandiose than usual.

 

“How do you know that?” This was from Leliana.

 

Without thinking about it, Amy looked Leliana dead in the eye and said, “She wants to join.”

 

She turned towards Sam. “Sammy?” she said eagerly, and for whatever reason, Sam stood a little straighter and nodded for her to continue. “When you get there, there…will be people. And they’ll be happy you …are there.” She assured. “Cause every-body is booooring.”

 

She heard Sera half snort out a breath. “But one dude’s gonna taunt you, and shit-talk ink~wa-zishun.” Amy waved her hand in the air as if she were waving smoke away from her face. “Don’t be worried ‘bout him, Vivienne’s gonna freeze him in place and threaten him for you.”

 

Sam’s eyes got a touch wide. “And then, she asks you what you want to do. If you say that you want him dead, she kills him. Flat. Out. Asks someone to clean up the mess too. S’bad.”

 

“Damn…” Bull grunted.

 

“Wait, she just kills him?” Sam was a bit boggled by this.

 

“You know such rudeness in… _intolerable_.” Amy says, mimicking what Vivienne had said when speaking to the Marquise.

 

“If you say he’s lehaaarned his less on…” Now Amy sat up straighter and tried to mimic Vivienne’s accent. “By the grace of Andraste, you have your life, my dear. Do be more careful with it.”

 

“How do you know these things?” This was from Leliana, and much more firm than her previous quandary.

 

“It’s one of the things she just knows.” Siheta said casually as she dabbed a bit at the side of Amy’s head. Was she still bleeding?

 

The room had grown quiet. It was something that everyone had thought, but no one had actually said out loud. Amy _just_ knew things.

 

“And you’ve no idea how?” Leliana said. “It’s hard to prove anything if you can’t tell us how this happens.”

 

Siheta stared at Leliana for a moment and then looked to Amy. “Amy. Tell me something about Leliana. Something you shouldn’t know.”

 

Amy blinked, and smiled before turning dreamy bedroom eyes on Leliana. “So, come now.” She said trying to match a suave Antivan accent. “I’m serious this time. Tell me of your vision.”

 

Leliana blinked rapidly at her. Amy sat up straighter and tried for Leliana’s accent. “Certainly not.” She said archly.

 

She slouched a bit and went back to mimicking Zevran. “You’ve told the grey wardens of your vision, have you not? Why them and not I?”

 

Shoulders back, accent crisp, “You said that you intended to make fun of me. You _actually_ said that.”

 

A frustrated slouch as she rolled her eyes. “It was funny at the _time_ , but come. Surely you can see I’m serious now. I honestly wish to know.

 

She turned her face away before responding primly. “That’s too bad. I honestly don’t wish to tell you.”

 

She slouched again and jutted her chin out defiantly. “Then I suspect that you don’t believe in your own vision.”

 

The world shook a bit as she drew herself upright quickly. “What!” she demanded hotly. “I—That’s not true! I _do_ believe in it!”

 

“Then” she drawled. “you would stand by it no matter what the consequences.”

 

She drew her shoulders back and narrowed her eyes. “Do you intend to make fun of me?”

 

She let a wily smile creep onto her face. “Well…yes. I can’t help it.”

 

“I! You! I simply!”

 

She looked at Leliana guiltily without feeling at all guilty. “I know. I know.” She laughed. “Terrible!”

 

Siheta looked at Leliana. “Is she right?” Leliana was staring, slack jawed at Amy. “If she’s right, then she isn’t mad. If she were mad, then she wouldn’t be right.” Siheta shrugged.

 

“That was…” Amy shrugged. “Some.. Ten pluz years ‘go?”

 

“S’pretty funny, Charmer.” Sera said. “Can you do Leliana now?”

 

Amy blinked at Sera and took a deep breath. She let it out on a dreamy sigh as she smiled serenely. She clasped both hands over her heart and murmured fondly, “Murder.”

 

Cullen snorted. It was loud and made everyone look at him. He was hunched slightly, one hand held up in a halting motion while the other messaged the bridge of his nose.

 

“Quite.” Solas said, smirking openly.

 

“You see what I mean?” Sam said, and Cullen was nodding.

 

“I cannot believe she just said that.” Varric said out loud.

 

“Out loud?” Amy asked.

 

Sera was giggling in typical snorty-braying fashion.

 

Bull was biting his lip… and Leliana was actually smiling. It was so nice to see it that it somewhat disarmed Amy.

 

“I miss you.” Amy said to Leliana. “I’m sorry.”

 

Leliana’s lips pursed just slightly, her eyes somehow warm. “Sorry for what?”

 

“For Dorothea.”

 

That sobered Leliana, though she smiled still. “It wasn’t your fault.. Was it?”

 

Amy shook her head. “Still sad.” She wilted slightly. “Everything is _bad_. What comes…is so bad.” Amy stilled because she needed things to stop. Needed the room to stop, the throbbing to stop, the ache in her chest. To. Stop. “Red lyrium and the templars and the mages and the Mag-is-ter and the seekers dying at Oswin.”

 

“Whoa…” This was from Sam. “Charmer…what do you mean the Seekers are dying?”

 

“Kahhher Oswin… Promises. Killing Seekers.”

 

Sam swallowed harshly, his eyes darting to everyone in the room in turn. Seeking something, some sort of confirmation or denial… but no one had anything to add to that.

 

Meanwhile, Amy met Varric’s eyes. “It’s not your fault.”

 

Varric took a deep breath. “You know, I think that may be the third time you’ve said that to me in passing. You still haven’t told me what for.”

 

Amy debated. There were reasons why she shouldn’t be talking so much, but… People were actually listening. “The… red lyrium.” She said, swallowing thickly. “Corypheus.”

 

Varric was smiling and nodding. “So, you know about that whole thing with Corypheus.”

 

Amy only nodded.

 

“This matter of the Seekers… I should look into it.” Leliana was saying to Sam and Cullen.

 

“Indeed.” Cullen said with a nod. “Should we tell Cassandra?”

 

“Not until we have something to tell.” Leliana dissuaded.She turned to Sam. “You will go ahead as planned. The Salon will not wait for you, and your absence would be incredibly rude.”

 

Sam let out a disgruntled sigh but nodded. “Especially with all the hoops Josie’s had to jump through just to make sure everything’s on the up-and-up.”

 

Amy had never thought of that. She’d always gone straight from Val Royeaux to Sera and then from Sera to Vivienne… of course it would take niceties and red tape before you could attend a Salon for someone as prominent as Vivienne.

 

“In the mean time, we will let Amy recover.” Cullen was saying, he turned to face Amy. “I understand if you would rather take a rest day tomorrow.”

 

Amy smirked. “No rest for the wicked.” She quoted.

 

He should his head. “Indomitable.” He muttered, almost inaudible.

 

“We will have more questions for you.” Leliana said. “But first…we need to look into the things you’ve already told us.”

 

Amy nodded. It was a step. A step towards validation.

 

And what she had said couldn’t be damning. It was over ten years old, but it came from a time when Leliana was a kinder, more optimistic person. She hoped that it reminded her of her old self… of what was important to her then.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I think Amy is in an incredibly optimistic place considering....everything..
> 
> Also, I ...uh...I made a form. Just because, I love google forms so much. I put it up on my StrivingScribe tumblr... And if you guys want to go and fill it out so that I'll actually have stuff to talk about for the ILIC Video that I'm making, it's here: https://docs.google.com/forms/d/1QI__e8d8QVTxCdH-riGZlWGwqeGW41RwvdeLoOH8Xc8/viewform


	18. Bruised but not Broken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Every now and then it feels like a perfect storm coalesces into what feels like divine retribution... Like the odds are just stacked against you :| 
> 
> I feel like I've been away from this far too long. I've had a horrible health roller coaster and my computers (including my laptop where I write) have been acting up. My cell too, but it's been acting better than my laptops. 
> 
> So... sorry -..- 
> 
> This chapter turned out a lot longer than I thought it would. It felt like a lot of things needed to happen. So. I hope you guys enjoy it :)

 

The morning was a struggle. Mostly because Amy wasn’t used to not getting out of bed right away. That was just how it always was. Alarm clocks meant get up, not ‘you’ve got 5 minutes’. Not in Bridget McManus’s house.

 

But the sisters woke her up with careful concern…. They had been shocked and just a touch outraged when she’d come in for the night, but all of that was converted to care….then again, it probably always was. 

 

Unfortunately, instead of rising instantly, Amy had groaned out that she’d be up shortly, and then fallen back asleep.

 

She had no idea how long they let her sleep, but it was Siheta who woke her next. She asked her the basic questions: what’s your name, where are you? The sort of questions you ask to make certain someone is not only awake but also conscious.

 

After answering those questions, Siheta took her hand, the other hand gently cradled a hand under her neck at the base of her skull, and then pulled her upright.

 

It felt like the front of her face was heavier than every part of her head… Like it would either slide forward like a landslide or it wanted to weigh her forward till her head was between her knees, till she tumbled ass over teakettle till she was lying belly-up again.

 

She didn’t let it.

 

She braced herself, reminded herself that the first hour is always the worst… then she stood on tight knees, eager to ease herself back into something that resembled normal. Or, at least, her version of normal.

 

Siheta shadowed her, but she didn’t baby her. She didn’t attempt to coddle Amy, or reach for her at every turn. She was just there. A solid presence, unyielding and yet soothing.

 

The two of them went through Amy’s morning stretches together along with Martha.

 

Martha was the sister who Amy admired so much—not just because she slept with Bull without any qualms, but also because she was the sister near the chantry with a backbone of steel… or iron. Her moral center was so self assured... she knew what was right and wrong, and she didn't differ from it, whether other people thought it was 'Andrastian' or not.

 

After a bit of breakfast, Amy did feel a touch better. Siheta insisted on carrying an extra waterskin for Amy in case she felt like she needed it…and Amy was only slightly regretful, but mostly grateful.

 

Amy proceeded with her usual morning routine, spreading the elfroot lotion on her skin. Otherwise she’d burn up… Even if Ferelden was frozen, it had an unforgiving sun. Siheta earned a chuckle from her when she booped a dollop of the creamy solution onto her own nose. It looked so odd. It was a shocking contrasting from vitaar—smooth not coarse, vivid not waxen. She spread it out, saying something about it being worth a try.

 

Finally, they moved through the chantry, stoppingwhen Sam purposefully approached them.

 

“You alright there, Charmer?” He asked, unable to hide his concern. Amy gave him a thumbs up, because she couldn’t nod without pain. He took a deep breath, as if to calm himself, before letting it out slow. “I wish I didn’t have to go.” He grumbled.

 

“Have to.” Amy reminded. “Iron lady waits on…no one. Not even heralds.”

 

He smirked. “So I hear.”

 

“Sam…” Amy began, looking about to make sure they were alone. Well, alone with Siheta. But Amy trusted Siheta. It seemed that they were alone. It was odd for the Chantry, but everyone had things to do. Even those chantry folks who mumbled the chant for no reason seemed to be in other rooms in the back. “Sam, you…you shhhhould tell Cass.”

 

“Tell her…uh…” Sam shifted nervously. “You mean that stuff you said about the Seekers?”

 

Amy nodded then winced. It wasn’t as bad as earlier this morning…but there was still a stab of pain right behind her eyes. “Yes.”

 

“But… I mean, Leliana said—”

 

“I know.” Amy cut him off. “But… if you had mission, and someone told you they…they may~be found your brother… Would you forget mission to chase him?”

 

Sim’s mouth stretched into a grim line. “No. I’d… I’d trust Leliana.”

 

“Trust Cass.” Amy assured, leaning a little closer to him.

 

It was odd, but Sam was one of those people who was very dear to her…and she knew next to nothing about it. Well. Him as an individual, that is. The game did allow for a bit of insight. Still. There was an urge to comfort him (which was very normal for her), but Amy had become aware of a subconscious repulsion. It was upsetting, this force that seemed to edge her away. It... it was like opposing ends of a magnet. 

 

...and what that meant frightened her. To the point that she tried  _not_ to think about it... A difficult task now that she'd noted it.

 

“Seekers are ..her heart… Your call, but…” Amy shrugged, managing to hide her wince, just barely.

 

“No. I think you’re probably right… besides,” now it was Sam’s turn to wince, though mostly out of the pain he was imagining instead of pain he was experiencing. “keeping it a secret for the next week and a half would probably kill me.”

 

“Not.. good at…secrets?”

 

Sam smiled. “No. I can keep ‘em, but… I dunno. I think I would’ve wrestled with whether or not I _should_ have kept it.”

 

“There you are.” Amy turned very slowly, finding Elossa walking through the chantry doors. The elf shut them delicately. “I’m always afraid I’ll burst into flames if I come in here.” She murmured, approaching Amy. “How are you feeling?” She asked, placing a hand on Amy’s forehead as if to check her temperature. Perhaps she was.

 

“Not great. Been worse.” Amy murmured.

 

“I’m gonna be counting on you to watch out for each other while I’m gone.” Sam said with faux seriousness.

 

Amy got the distinct impression that when he said ‘watch out for each other’ he was covertly telling Siheta and Elossa to watch over her…. Though conflicted, Amy attempted to take it for what it was.

 

She didn’t want to be doted on, but if anyone else had been in her position….then she probably would’ve wanted to dote on them. Fair is fair, as they say.

 

“We’ll make sure everything’s still standing when you get back.” Siheta assured.

 

He gave a single nod before mustering up a smirk. “So. How about a song for the road, Charmer?” he weaseled.

 

Amy pouted, because she was keenly aware that singing was what she was becoming more known for. It wasn’t something she did poorly, but it wasn’t her forte either. What made it exasperating was the fact that she had _such_ a problem denying the requests… But what to sing?

 

“What about that song your father loves so much? It would probably sound great in here. This chantry lets sound ruminate well.” Siheta said, and Amy felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand at attention. She slowly rotated till she was staring at Siheta. The woman’s brow puckered in worry. “Or…is that too close to home?” She asked.

 

Amy swallowed and tried not to focus on Siheta’s use of the word ‘ruminate’ to describe sound or the fact that the woman _knew_ a song Amy had never sung out loud in Thedas. They would definitely be having another private conversation...she hoped soon.

 

She tried to focus on the idea itself. The thought of singing it in a chantry for Sam…. Would it be too difficult? Would she think of her father and Grandda watching her as she sung it in choir?

 

…Probably…but it would also probably be worth it.

 

Not all tears are an evil, after all.

 

Amy took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She could hear the music and the voices of the others in the choir as they harmonized, humming in the background.

 

She saw her family in a crowded audience, watching. Her mother proud, yes, but it was her father and grandparents that were practically shining with joy as they watched her.

 

That had been their best Christmas... her grandparents had flown in from Ireland just for the occasion. They pretended that her recital had been the reason for the visit, and to a greater extend, the reunification of the family...

 

That had been the first Christmas that her mother had been accepted in her father's family. Truly _accepted_. They weren't just tolerating her at this point... She had raised 3 McManus children in a catholic church.... It had been one of the happiest times of her youth.

 

Mother’s joy was always rather quiet and soft, but her father’s side of the family tended to be more rowdy… But then, they had been in a church. Their delighted reverence expressed with shining eyes and stiff posture, otherwise someone may just burst into tears at the sight of the baby of the family singing a solo at the Christmas choir.

 

She’d been about fourteen, and Grandda hadn’t even complained about the church’s use of great highland bagpipes to start the song… she could just hear him now, though: ‘Fekkin’ Scots!’ he’d grunt, and probably spit (if he thought no ladies were present).

 

One could not deter the ire of an Irishman when it came to expressing that ire at other members of good old Britannia…even if it made no sense. Mostly, it was accepted and attributed to some regional form of tourettes.

 

Another deep breath, reinforcing her diaphragm to better project and control, and maybe..maybe she was ready.

 

“Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me.” Luckily, all the nostalgia in the world had not tempered her ability to sing strong and clearly. “I once was lost, but now I’m found. T’was blind, but now I see.”

 

Amy felt herself being swept away with the song, with the feelings that it evoked. She could even hear some of the other members of the choir joining in to harmonize with her on the end of every verse… the way it’d been done so many years ago.

 

“T’was Grace that taught my heart to fear, and Grace, my fears relieved.” Amy was somewhat surprised that focusing on this allowed her to forget about the pain in her head and neck… then again, with a memory so tied to her family (and thus, her heart) it wasn’t _too_ surprising.“How precious did that grace appear, the hour I first believed.

 

Amy made certain to keep her diaphragm firm without tensing too much. The next verse called for purpose and strength. A certainty was to be held in those verses that would be accepted and reassuring at the same time.

 

“Through many dangers, toils, and snares we have already come. T’was grace that brought us safe thus far, and grace will lead us home.” Amy felt herself smiling as her eyes slowly opened.

 

“And grace will lead us home.” She felt her eyes widen in shock when she realized that both Siheta and Elossa were singing _with_ her. Had it just been that last verse? Did they just join in at the end or..?

 

Sam, for his part, looked at her with awe…and it was more than a little unsettling.

 

Amy felt her shoulders tense, because now that all that romanticized memory faded and her eyes were opened… she realized that they weren’t alone anymore.

 

She turned wide eyes on a meager congregation of people who’d apparently poured into the belly of the chantry from the back rooms as she’d sung for Sam. They had done so as quietly as possible, because they had heard her singing… and they didn’t want her to stop.

 

Most of them were chantry folk, but she spotted the elven servants that she worked with in laundry, as well as Mother Giselle and Chancellor Roderick…and the usual members who met at the war table.

 

..oh, Merlin’s shorts..

 

It was very nearly everyone. Everyone was just…just watching. All of them with similar expressions to the one Sam was wearing… well. Except the servants. They looked… giddy. It was so cute, Amy found the aggravation of the situation seeping away. This only left behind the nervousness of being on the spot.

 

“…Ah…” she swallowed and then clenched her back teeth to keep them from chattering. “Good roads.” She whimpered in a high-pitched tone before hustling her way out of the chantry.

 

Not that she’d actually done the hustle…

 

Siheta and Elossa followed, and as Amy turned to shut the chantry door she was absolutely mortified to note that Sam was still giving her that breathlessly amazed look.

 

Not…what she was going for. Not at all. And not what she had expected... she didn't know how to behave when a man—when anyone!—looked at her like that. She gave a wave and skulked off to the side of the chantry. Ducking into the tree line, she rounded on Siheta.

 

“How??” she half wheezed.

 

Siheta blinked then smirked. “Uhhh.. Well. I’ve gotten better at hearing you.” Siheta said. “Now that I know how to focus on you, It’s a lot easier to hear what’s going on…” She tapped Amy over her heart. “In here.”

 

Amy let out a sigh and then regarded Elossa. “You..?”

 

“What do you mean?” Elossa asked.

 

“She wants to know why and how you were singing along.” Siheta confirmed.

 

“It’s a very old song.” Elossa said as if it were obvious.

 

“From where?” Amy asked, staring hard at Elossa. Like she was afraid the woman would somehow evaporate if Amy didn’t keep both eyes on her.

 

Elossa’s eyes drifted to the right, a mystified expression slowly settling on her face. “I… I don’t remember. I just.” Elossa shook her head and shrugged. “It feels like I’ve always known it. Like the words were just _there_.”

 

Siheta smiled. “That’s good. Maybe that means that you _are_ connecting with the Fade. Slowly, it seems. But at least part of you is trying.” Amy half glared at her, too worried about what that could mean to be excited about it.

 

“What…what do you mean?” Elossa asked, looking for all the world as though Siheta had said an enormous spider had just emerged nearby.

 

“Amy doesn’t go into the Fade. She doesn’t dream or connect with it at all.” Siheta informed, and Elossa brought a hand up to cover her gaping mouth.

 

“Hey.” Amy whined, petulant.

 

“Amy, you know Elossa will keep your confidence.” Siheta said.

 

“Told Cul’len too.” Amy grunted.

 

“And you _didn’t_ want Cullen to know?”

 

“No.” Amy droned, monotone.

 

“…So you just wish you’d been the one to say it?”

 

“Yes.” Amy confirmed with the same tone she’d used before.

 

“But then you…” Elossa cut herself off, not even sure how to ask the questions she needed to ask. “How does that even _work_?”

 

“Not well.” Amy snipped, crossing her arms.

 

“She’s just cross about being the center of attention.” Siheta said, ignoring Amy’s glare. It held little heat, because Amy was still thinking of Siheta as if she were Cole… and now she somewhat understood why people could be put off by Cole. It’s hard to have someone who can tune into the ‘inner you’. That part you prefer to keep, even from yourself sometimes. It didn't help that she assumed she'd be better at it. It made her unease that much more aggravating. 

 

Amy’s eyes widened, and she focused on narrowing her thoughts.

 

There were things that needed to be done today. Important things.

 

“Time is it?”

 

“Huh?” Elossa blinked, then searched the sky. “Uh…”

 

“Never mind!” Amy said criss crossing her hands to turn her forearms into an ‘X’. “We move.” Leading by example, Amy cleared the brush and started towards the front gate.

 

“Uh, Amy? Don’t you want your cloak?” Elossa asked.

 

“No.” Amy said. “May need move today.”

 

“She expects more resistance, I imagine.” Siheta said, still unaffected by Amy’s jitteriness.

 

Amy did feel a little bad about being so nervous, but… Well. She didn’t have time to feel nervous.

 

If Siheta just _knew_ things…then that was fine. Siheta was _not_ like Cole in that she’d been raised in this world. So. Even if she knew Amy inside and out, she’d also know what Amy wanted to share and what she wouldn’t.

 

When the ladies came to a stop on the other side of the steps that led through the gateway, Siheta rested a single hand atop Amy’s head. There was no weight to it, only the warmth Amy usually associated with the woman.

 

She looked up at Siheta and found the Vashoth smiling at her.

 

…This inside-out thing was going to take some getting used to.

 

“Maker’s fuckin’…” Amy blinked and looked over to find Blackwall, Harrit, and Dennet were approaching her from the Mage’s tent. Some of the mages were also drawing near to them.

 

“Varric done told us what happened, but I thought…” Harritt grumbled, eyeing Amy with a great deal of sadness. So much so that she wanted to ask what was wrong.

 

“You’re telling me a grown, armored man did that?” Dennet growled.

 

“Technically, three armored men _tried_ to do a lot worse.” Siheta said, crossing her arms over her chest. Amy winced in her general direction, because she was not helping to diffuse the situation.

 

The woman remained unmoved, which meant Siheta probably thought their reactions were valid… and..well, Amy supposed they would’ve been for anyone else.

 

“I hear you have their names, Dennet.” Blackwall muttered darkly.

 

….ladies and gentlemen, here we have Harritt as grief, Dennet as anger, and Blackwall as bargaining.. The three stages of ‘we gon’ fuck shit _uhhhp_ ’.

 

Amy had not looked at herself in any reflective surface… mostly because there weren’t an abundance of those in the chantry. She hadn’t seen the angry dark indigo splotches that dominated the side of her face… they’d been dark berry-red last night, though she hadn’t seen them then either.Her skin was freckled and normally fair, so the bruising looked even harsher on her.

 

Amy held up both hands, tried to wave them away. “Is fine. Don’t hurt.”

 

“It does so, you little liar.” Dennet complained. “And it isn’t _fine_. It’s many, many things, but fine is not one of them.” He said crossing his arms so that he wouldn't clench his fists or flail his arms. Oh, he was livid.

 

“I..I mean, I _am._ F-fffine. Now.” She corrected. “Now.” she repeated, a little more quietly.

 

“It’s a good thing.” She heard Bull approach before she saw him. Had he been on the field? “And you know you’re wrong about what they did. It’s _not_ forgivable.” Bull half glared at her when she opened her mouth to protest. “If it had been anyone else, you would agree.”

 

She let her mouth fall closed and cooly eyed the ground.

 

He was right of course.

 

“Ben-Hashole.” She snipped, which only earned a smirk.

 

“You realize that’s why Leliana was so concerned last night, right?” Amy blinked at him. “If there are security threats, it’s _her_ job to weed them out. Those soldiers crossed into her turf all on their own. I hear she and Cullen have devised something special for them.”

 

Amy blinked, a little offended. She could defend herself after all. It wasn’t like she needed people to champion her.

 

“This isn’t about how well you can handle yourself in a fight.” Siheta said. “This is about the fact that the fight should have never happened. You should be able to trust our soldiers. We _all_ should.” Siheta’s eyes narrowed. “Isn’t that what had you raging last night?”

 

Amy sighed. “Have to act.” Amy grunted. “If you …re-ahct to opponent, then opponent…con-controhls you.”They were right of course, but… “No witch hunts.”

 

“I’m pretty sure Red kept things nice and professional, if it makes you feel better.” Bull said.

 

It didn’t…

 

Then again, who was she to argue with Cullen and Leliana about this? Her perspective was skewed.. She was entirely too focused on trying to be a bigger person. Someone that wasn’t petty or prone to vicious tendencies. Sometimes that top of the mountain stuff only really worked on the top of the mountain. Especially since inaction would convey that these men weren't doing anything wrong. Cullen and Leliana would make examples of them to demonstrate to the rest of the group that what they had done was every kind of wrong.

 

She obviously needed to step back and… well… let things happen.

 

She smirked at herself as she remembered the words she’d said to Sam earlier about trusting others to do what they had to do. None of these people were children, and they didn’t need lectures.

 

“We walk… we’ll be…fine.”

 

“You certainly will be.” Blackwall grumbled with a grim determination.

 

“Guess these are a little late, but…” Harritt drew a little closer pulling a satchel that had been on his back into view. Amy’s eyes widened when he pulled two slender red batons out of it. “Believe you requested these.” He said, handing them to her.

 

They were twice the length of her forearm, and Harritt had fashioned hilts, grips, and rounded edges onto them. Their grips were wrapped in some sort of leather as well..

 

When Amy took hold of them, she was surprised how light they were.

 

“What the fuck are those?” Bull asked. Amy stepped back so that no one was behind her and rotated her wrists so that they swung through the air behind her.

 

“Escrima… uh.. Baton?” Amy asked, and everyone only blinked at her. “Weapon?”

 

“Those little sticks are weapons?” Bull asked, staring at her as if she’d lost her mind.

 

Amy smirked at him. “Wanna see?” she asked.

 

He sighed. “I mean… yeah..But I’m probably gonna to regret it.”

 

She held them up. “Strike me.” She said, her stance strong and ready. Connected to the earth, unmoving, waiting.

 

Bull groaned. “Figured as much.”

 

He had to crouch a bit in his stance just so that he wasn’t towering over her. Amy kept her arms relaxed, batons (they weren’t really proper batons, but they really weren’t proper escrima sticks either…) pointed out and away from her person.

 

Relaxed guard was what she usually led with anyway, because it conserved energy and provoked predictable attacks. Bull jabbed in low, trying to strike in the center towards her torso… predictable.

 

Amy only had to feint away slightly while the left stick swung up to catch his wrist and bat it away, while the right one swing down hard, connecting just above his elbow. Normally, she’d try to land the blow directly on joints, because that limited an opponents range of mobility, but… this was a demonstration. Bull would appreciate the pain without being incapacitated.

 

“Fuck!” he grunted, half loping away and rotating that shoulder while the elbow remained bent and cradled against his chest. He walked in a half circle before returning. “Did you really _have_ to?”

 

“Uh huh.” Amy snarked, rotating her wrists and whirling her batons around.

 

“You didn’t even break eye contact with him.” Elossa remarked, surprised and impressed.

 

“Know an-ataah… An at ome.”

 

“Anatomy?”

 

“Yes.” Amy grunted.

 

“Made a holster for ‘em too.” Harritt said, fishing it out of the bag. It looked like a simple belt with lots to catch on the hilts of the sticks. “I could make you one that straps to your back, I suppose. Made daggers about that size.”

 

“Prince!” Amy enthused taking the belt from Harritt. “What…what leh ther?”

 

“Hm? Oh. It’s canine leather.” Harritt said absently.

 

“Harritt!” Amy breathed urgently, her eyes round with potential scandalized. “We’re… in …Ferel _den_! _”_

 

That got a couple of people chuckling.

 

“Yeah yeah…” Harritt muttered. “It’s what we had excess of. Herald’s boys came across a bunch of mabari and wolves in the Hinterlands…found a shit-ton of Drakestone as well.”

 

“Drakestone, huh?” Bull eyed them critically before shrugging. “Not bad.”

 

“Dawn... stone better?” Amy asked him and he grinned at her.

 

“It’s pretty.” He remarked, somehow smug that she understood that. 

 

“…It’s pink.” Blackwall reminded.

 

“Its…. _Pretty_.” Bull repeated in a tone that suggested Blackwall was entering ‘insulted my mother’ level of wrong if he continued to malign how pretty dawnstone was.

 

Amy shook quietly with laughter. She was pretty sure she’d heard a similar conversation on one of her Lavellan’s trek through the Western Fucking Approach.

 

“I suppose this means you’re certain about wanting to survey the field again.” She heard Cullen say before she saw him approach. He was with Sam and Cassandra and Ser Wystan and a number of other people. Some of them were Templars, and some were part of his normal entourage…but some, she didn’t know. “It’s not yet 8 bells, and you’re already beating on Bull?”

 

“Asked.” Amy said with a smirk.

 

“Charmer can demonstrate her expertise on me any time she wants.” Bull said in a magnanimous fashion. “If that expertise should extend to anything other than fighting—hrofhk!” he grunted as she struck him against the belly. It wasn’t a _real_ strike, but he pretended to be winded anyway.

 

Cullen cleared his throat to regain order. “I thought perhaps you would like to know that the soldiers who accosted you last night will be on stable duty for the foreseeable future.”

 

Amy blinked at that… she supposed it wasn’t too bad. “Guard stables?” she asked.

 

Cullen was suppressing a grin. _Why_ was Cullen suppressing a grin??

 

“No.” He said cooly. “They are now under Master Dennet’s employment. They will be doing whatever he needs.” He said.

 

Amy’s eyes widened as she slowly turned to look at Dennet. The man looked smug and vindictive… it was a horrific expression reserved for people who took pleasure in torturing others.

 

“Those fuckers are gonna be shovelin’ manure for a long, _long_ while.” Macie grumbled on a chuckle. Amy could only wince in sympathy.

 

“If there’s nothing else, I will leave you to it.” He said, half turning.

 

“Cuh mander.” Amy began. “S’gonna be… harsh. Today.”

 

Cullen gave her a grim nod. “You know the behavior I expect from these soldiers.” He said, facing forward. “You do what you need to do, Amy.” He muttered before walking on.

 

Amy took a deep breath and let it out, holstering her new batons. Ser Wystan approached, eying the side of her face with barely concealed fury.

 

“A’right. Here’s play.” She grunted to her mage quartet. “Elossa. Siheta. You’re on rear.” Siheta nodded at that. “Macie. Bax. You center.” Macie proceeded to bop her hip against Bax’s which earned a grin and a head shake from him. Amy looked at Ser Wystan. “You and I at point.”

 

“What exactly do you expect will happen today?” Ser Wystan asked.

 

“Maybe just talk. But I deal.” She said with a determination that was fierce in its certainty. Wystan surveyed her and gave a single nod after evaluating her determination.

 

“Do you think… I mean…” Macie seemed puzzled. “You don’t expect these men could attack us?”

 

“No. Not you.” Amy said. “You are …heal duty.”

 

“Wait…but…” Bax’s eyes had gotten wide. “Do you expect them to hurt you?”

 

“No.” Amy said simply before elaborating. “I hurt them. You heal them. We keep moving.”

 

“So you’re defense is going to be centered on offense?” This came from Bull, who looked back onto the field, speculative and somewhat wistful.

 

“Only break resistance.” Amy explained. “Hand ‘em back to Cuh..man der bruised. Not broken.” She eyed the four mages. “We go at…your pace.” She continued. “If I hold up hand.” She demonstrated, somewhat like she’d seen in army movies when leaders had to communicate silently. Or if your blinkers weren’t working and you had to signal that you were gonna turn right. “We stop.” She turned and pointed to Median Road. “We walk, once down, then over. Back to meeh-de-an, then back up. Then we speak.”

 

“Why?” Macie asked, curious.

 

“Evaluative purposes.” Ser Wystan explained. His hands were both clasped at the small of his back. Amy took a second to ponder if that was a universal ‘at ease’ stance or just coincidence. “You’re part of the mage group that’s delivering that Remedy, right?” at their nods Wystan continued. “Miss Amy is going to ask you to walk a route and then inform her of any concerns you may have.”

 

Amy nodded. “Other than soldier…hos…hostil ahty.” She clenched her jaw and reminded herself to breathe. “We must…gage …difficulty. Ease of ak-sess. Like-ly-hood of suk-sess.” They were all nodding, meaning they understood.

 

“And…if you do encounter resistance?” Elossa asked, her concern was hesitant.

 

“Know when we see.” Amy said. “Have feelin’…won’t take long.”

 

Amy wasn’t wrong. They assembled in the formation that Amy had outlined, Wystan at her right with Macie and Bax behind them and Elossa and Siheta behind Bax and Macie. They started walking and received no end of looks, though most were actually favorable.

 

Many of the soldiers looked with sympathy, they measured her, some even looked angry. Those angry eyes were just fine as long as they looked away in disgust. She interpreted that as disgust for what had happened. Disgust for those who had attacked her. The disgust translated not to her, but to her abuse. Male pride wasn't always the _worst_ thing. A man who took pride in those protecting others was an asset to his protectorate...It was ideal for soldiers. If they saw her as someone worth protecting, then that was good. 

 

The ones she worried over were the looks of malcontent. Those who seemed angry and yet validated. Those were the ones to consider. Those were the ones to watch.

 

They’d hit the second row when one of the soldiers decided to get mouthy.

 

“The fuck is this? Now she brings _mages_ in here?”

 

Amy didn’t see him. She heard him. She held up her hand and brought their party to a stop. She continued to stare forward, but she could feel everyone’s eyes on her. Even Ser Wystan was watching to see what she would do.

 

The man, whoever he was, continued his rant.

 

“Like she’s got the right, or something.”

 

“Brown, if the only muscle you’re workin’ is your jaw, I can give you things to do.” His commanding officer tried to interfere.

 

“It’s a disgrace, Captain. Like _she_ has any place on a battlefield.”

 

“You gonna tell her what her place is then?” That was another man in their group.

 

“Stow it, Simpkins. You know her claims at any authority is completely pretend. Anyone can see she’s a charlatan.”

 

“ _Ooooh_. Such big words you’ve learned to parrot.” This was… The man (Brown) had called him Simpkins.

 

It told Amy a few things. This man was like the others last night. Someone had been stirring up sedition (probably Siheta’s assassins) and some of the soldiers were probably reacting to it. Amy assumed this person, this Brown, was not one of the assassins… Mostly because assassins rarely attempted frontal assaults (thanks for that, Zevran). Also, she assumed Siheta would’ve found a way to alert her to it.

 

Amy turned and faced the man, striding towards him at a regular, easy pace.

 

His commanding officer, the Captain, took a few steps back. Obviously, Cullen had spoken with his officers.

 

“Oh, what? You’re gonna come over here and intimidate me with your pretty little sticks?” Brown grunted. “Some of us know who you are. We know—”

 

Back foot connects with the earth. Solid, strong. Maintains that link to the world. Front foot crouched, at the ready, but still connected. The energy travels up the legs, twists in the hips, bundles and coils through in the torso, back-neck-shoulders, a whip-crack of energy through the body, till it cascades down the right arm.

 

Normally, the larger the puncher, the greater the force… but Amy knew a lot about momentum and what her body could do.

 

She punched, her right fist connected nicely and neatly with his cheekbone. Thrusting out and slightly up. She knew the force that was needed, and she added that much and a little extra. Just to make a point. Jostle the brain, back to front, for a short circuit. 

 

He dropped.

 

Hit the ground in a heap.

 

Amy’s eyes met the Captain’s. “Sorry ‘bout mess.” She said.

 

He seemed impressed. Very impressed. He licked his chapped lips before saying, “It’s my mess.”

 

Amy bent just slightly at the waist, bowing in acknowledgment of his position, before she turned on heel and marched back to stand by Ser Wystan.

 

He was also impressed, though his regard seemed a touch cool. “Nicely done.” He grunted, before his eyes swiveled forward.

 

“Thanks.” Amy murmured.

 

“Your hand hurt?”

 

“Please.” She said, flexing her hand. She was wearing gloves, after all, and they weren’t for fashion. They were thick leather…. She’d probably get one of them to focus a heal on her hand when they were off the field. For now, she’d cope. She half turned. “Elossa?”

 

She could've asked Bax or Macie, but Amy wanted to make a point that Circle trained humans were not the only ones here who could heal.

 

“Uh…right.” Elossa cast a healing spell on the fallen man. No use adding to the brain damage, after all.

 

“Much obliged.” The Captain murmured with a nod, as some of the other men at rest hauled Brown away.

 

“We go.” Amy half sang before she started walking again. The pace was easy for the mages that were with them now.

 

Amy noticed that the gazes that weren’t the ‘right type of anger’, were now very hastily averted.

 

…Sometimes, an example had to be made.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ....still working on that video. It's shaping up to be a real doozie.


	19. This Little Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More progress is made here, but mostly there's a lot of patrons annoying Amy with ridiculous statements and questions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I dunno about you, but I always feel like it always takes me way to long to write these :| Gonna have to work on that. I got a bunch of doctor's appointments lined up, so I'll probably need something to focus on :3
> 
> Now! On to the good stuff!

It felt as though time was dragging while Sam was gone. Amy felt like everyone was waiting for something, only they didn’t know what. It made the days very tense, even though she tried not reacting to that. Pretending at obliviousness wasn’t exactly a skill set, but she could adapt.

 

After the first initial walk-around (the one where she knocked out the man for speaking out), things on the field seemed to regulate. Every day they would walk. Every day, they would make observations and discuss how best to refine a delivery system…

 

There had been only one other incident. About four days after the first, Amy returned to Cullen to give him a report to find one of his own soldiers berating him.

 

…The soldier was berating Cullen.

 

What gall.

 

Cullen simply stood in place and let this man go on about how this was ‘highly irregular’ how Cullen should’ve known it would only cause more chaos on the field.

 

Amy stood by this man who barely acknowledged her with more than a glance, listening to him round out his arguments.

 

…To be clear, the man wasn’t upset that Amy, as a woman, was on the field. He was in an uproar because he knew having non-combatants on a field was not only dangerous but ‘unprofessional’.

 

Amy waited, picking up on all the subtle cues Cullen was giving—his bland expression, his thousand yard stare, his overly relaxed posture. Cullen didn’t care about this man. He would probably dismiss him and his concerns the same way he was dismissing most of the other men who complained about her.

 

Once the man had finished, he’d worked himself into quite a breathless state. Most of that was from overuse of emotion in hopes of provoking a response…which, Cullen refused to give him.

 

“Permission t’speak …freely Cuh man der?” Amy requested, mimicking Cullen’s posture and blase demeanor.

 

Cullen half turned to her, trying to suppress a grin. Technically, she wasn’t a soldier, so the request was strange.

 

“Granted.” Cullen allowed.

 

Amy stepped into the complainer’s stance, lengthening it and pulling at his inside ankle with her foot. She shoved with the heel of her hand against his jaw, forcing it up and back. The momentum toppled him (toppling was her speciality…she’d have to save that pun for Bull at some point), and before he went down, she reached out and grabbed the hilt of his sword. It came away from him cleanly.

 

The sword was not a jian, but it was a straight sword. Well made, well balanced… probably some sort of family heirloom.

 

The man went to rise, hissing something through clenched teeth. Amy dropped into a ready position, the sword hilt gripped more firmly as she swung the blade through the air. In spite of her swinging the sword in the air beneath her waistline, it came up, pointing just to his eye level. It loomed there, as did she, in an alert cat stance ready to move if that was required.

 

He froze.

 

It wasn’t very unlike the moves that the soldiers were doing here. Most of their moves were strictly for blocking or attacking, but Amy understood the sword as an extension of self. 

 

She held her crouch and her position for a few long seconds, feeling the eyes of more than just Cullen and this man on her.

 

She drew away, stood and straightened, swinging the sword back, till the flat of the blade rested against the back of her arm, the hilt gripped tightly in her palm.

 

“Speaks for it self.” Amy grunted.

 

Cullen stared at her, squinting and still trying not to grin.

 

“If you’re worried about her as a ‘non-combatant’… I think you’ll find she’s quite capable of keeping herself safe.” Cullen said to…whoever this man was. “Not that she _should_ have to concern herself with such things.”

 

Ser Wystan approached Amy’s side, putting himself effectively between Amy and the man on the ground. He leaned down to offer him a hand up. “If you’re very interested, I’m sure we can arrange some sort of match between the lady and yourself.” Wystan offered.

 

Amy wondered if this man knew Wystan. He seemed very ready to accept Wystan’s aid without offense. An alpha male that he didn’t know might irk him, but he seemed to relax at Wystan’s presence.

 

“No. That… would be shameful.” He said as he rose. Amy felt herself relax just a touch. Cullen’s hackles had risen at the suggestion, and she knew if this man had shown any interest, Cullen would’ve probably crushed that possibility under the heel of his boot without a second thought. “Any self respecting soldier does not quarrel with his own people.” He eyed Amy on the other side of Wystan, looking chagrin but otherwise not resentful. “May I have my blade back?”

 

Amy looked to Cullen, who nodded, before presenting the sword hilt back to this man. “Don’t. Loose. It.”

 

He gave a soft laugh, merely a breath, before taking the hilt of the sword. “I assure you, I’ve no intentions of mislaying my father’s sword.”

 

“Not sword.” Amy insisted. “Self. Ress pekt.”

 

The man chuckled softly, nodding first to Wystan and then to Cullen before leaving.

 

Wystan was eyeing her with that sagely, old soldier gaze. “You were raised around fighting men.” It was a statement that begged for validation.

 

“Was.” She said with an almost wistful smirk.

 

Even when it had been the early days, when she was tiny and her father’s dojo hadn’t had much of a following, she still had experience with her brothers as fighters…. Experiments Zero and Oh-One they jokingly called themselves when they looked back on their childhood.

 

“Your father must be a very great man in order to keep many fighters under him.”

 

“Great man.” Amy said with a nod.

 

Amy felt a stab of pain from the thought… She remembered her father. His big goofy grin, eyes squinting from joy while his cheeks reddened and puffed with a smile so big… And then she remembered when Gran died. The somber staleness that settled on him in his staid black suit.

 

…She knew he was like that now. Somewhere. In another world. Her father wasn’t smiling because he was mourning. Because he’d lost her.

 

She tilted her head, closing her eyes.

 

Memories of her loved ones would flitter into her awareness randomly through the day. During those times, she was galvanized by the most debilitating grief.

 

Now. She could not feel that. She had to be resolute and unyielding, absolutely assured of herself while she was on this field.

 

She remembered the smell of metal and sweat and snow, all prevalent out here. They had been sickening in the beginning, but now… well. Adapt, and overcome.

 

She had rounded out that visit to the field by giving Cullen her report and reconvening with her mage quartet… If Cullen or her group had noted any wavering in her behavior, they gave no telling signals that they had…or that it bothered them.

 

Days on the field were very nicely balanced by evenings in the tavern. The days were focused and intense, sometimes grueling. But the evenings? Those were filled with revelry and laughter.

 

It had been six days… six days since Sam and his company had left for Madame de Fer’s salon.

 

…Not that Amy was keeping track.

 

She tried to throw her focus into anything that was ahead of her in that moment, or any goal that needed immediate attention for the day… during this time, she had noticed two shadows out of the corner of her eye…but, she tried not to pay attention to it.

 

Once, she thought she noticed an elf following her… but she couldn’t describe her. Then, later, she could’ve swore she saw the same shape over and over just outside her field of vision. No matter how many times she thought she’d seen this elf, she still questioned whether she’d been there or not, because she couldn’t describe her at all..

 

She became very suspicious when she found Charter at the tavern that evening…not that she did more than skulk at the table closest to the bar. Varric sat on the opposite end of her table, and would smirk at her occasionally…but she only sat and sipped her drink. Nothing more.

 

Of course, Bull and the Chargers were in the tavern, and it wasn’t long before a group of soldiers (the same that had been there the night she’d been attacked) came in as well.

 

This group consisted of four hardened-looking men of various ages, one very young looking man, and two women. Amy learned after a few minutes talking with them, that these were members of a specialist fighter group… Prestigious, indeed.

 

So… She _really_ didn’t have too much time to evaluate Charter’s presence.

 

That was probably for the best. As it was, Amy had no time to do anything except for serve drinks and converse with the patrons… and there was nothing suspicious about that, since it was her job.

 

As for the patrons…they were…excited. The soldiers were happy to see her well enough to work. They had come to celebrate an auspicious occasions.

 

The youngest of them, a very young-looking making who had no business shaving and could’ve been only _just_ out of his teens (and that was pushing it), was celebrating his birthday. The senior members of his regiment decided that he deserved a lot of celebrating… His age displayed further by how quickly he became intoxicated.

 

…And he was adorable.

 

“Hey, Miss Amy, you’re awful pretty.” He said, his chin propped in his elbow as he stared all sleepy-eyed at Amy as she finished serving another round to the table. Some of the men chuckled at this announcement.

 

“Thank you.” Amy said, tilting her head and trying not to blush… attention, she was used to… but her looks weren’t exactly something she put stock in. It was mostly genetic, after all.

 

“How come you never been married?” He asked. “Guess no one was up to snuff.”

 

“Oh, kid.” Varric huffed out a chuckle. “These are the juicy questions no one dares to even ask.”

 

“Mostly because they know better.” This came from Ida, the dark skinned warrior woman who kept most of her thick hair back in a tight wrap. Her eyes were as dark as her skin, and they usually seemed bored as well as challenging. She had serious cheekbone game and the most plump lips Amy had ever seen. Super jealous.

 

“Aw, there’s no harm in asking.” Bull soothed. “Tell us, Charmer. How’d you shoot ‘em down?”

 

“Didn't.” Amy sniffed at Bull’s cheek, but shrugged answering easily enough. “Can’t ahnser quest shun that is naht askted.” she said with a smirk.

 

‘The Kid’ blinked owlishly at her. “Yurs sayin no one’s ever asked??” He squawked. Before Amy could respond, he followed up. “Why not! They got eyes where you’re from, right?”

 

“Was it because your dad was a big-time fighter?” Bull asked, a bit curious himself.

 

“No.” Amy said shaking her head.

 

“S’it because of the men that he trained? Musta had his own militia, with all the different fighting styles you’ve talked about. That’s a lotta boys training under your Papa.” Krem threw out there with a smirk.

 

At this point, the Chargers were remaining quiet, content to let everyone else talk while they all smirked and shot each other mischievous looks.

 

“No…” Amy’s response dragged just a touch, her tone reflecting the annoyance she felt from having so many people butting into her response instead of letting her respond.

 

The kid snapped his fingers. “I got it!” he pointed at her. “You had brothers.” Amy waited for elaboration of this, but he merely continued pointing as if that was all he had to say and it was self explanatory by nature.

 

“…Yes..but…s’not why.” Amy said carefully.

 

“Well, I don’t get it.” The kid said, his shoulders hunching. It was then that one Commander Cullen walked in through the side door of the tavern. If the ‘kid’ noticed this, it didn’t deter him. “You’re pretty, smart, and so strong. Why wouldn’t you get married?”

 

Cullen stopped after having closed the door behind him and stared at the young man completely aghast. His eyes darted around the room in a demanding manor. It was the sort of look Amy had seen from her mother when she was wondering if she was going to have to step in and handle a situation, because it obviously wasn’t being handled properly.

 

“Cuhmander.” Amy greeted with an overly large grin pasted on her face.

 

The kid swung around and stared at Cullen. “Commander, d’you know that no one’s ever asked her to marry ‘em?” he asked, his voice a scandalized whisper.

 

Cullen stared at him for a moment then looked to Amy as if to ask ‘how do you provoke these ludicrous conversations??’.

 

“She’s, like, I mean…” the kid motioned to her as if the sight of Amy would be enough to demonstrate what he was trying to say. “M’pretty sure half the fellas that meet her are in love with her, even the ones that act like they don’t like her.”

 

“Probably _especially_ those.” One of the ladies said.

 

“ _She_ …s’ahl... all-so.. In tha ruhm.” Amy grunted a reminder as she went behind the bar to fix Cullen a drink. She wasn’t sure what he was doing here, but she felt no one deserved a drink more than him.

 

“She’s a rather intimidating force.” Cullen said. “Perhaps it isn’t that surprising no one matched her caliber.” Cullen’s words seemed to dry up as he observed the darkening of Amy’s face along with her flinty narrowed eyes. He cleared his throat, a touch uneasy as he sat down near Varric. “How long has Jessop been drunk enough to propose to Amy?”

 

“I haven’t proposed!” ‘Jessop’ aka the kid, yelped.

 

Amy smirked at that, rounding the table and placing a large tankard of Ferelden beer in front of Cullen.

 

“Cuz a man’d hafta be drunk to prahpoze t’me?” she asked, smiling sweetly. Cullen’s eyes rounded as he stared straight ahead.

 

“I’m going to advise a tactical retreat, Commander.” One of the older men at the table offered.

 

“I fear it is much too late for that, Larsk.” Cullen lamented. “Though your attempts at a rescue are appreciated.” He looked down at the tankard in front of his, somewhat surprised that it was there, and yet he gratefully took a drink if only to buy time. “I apologize if my words were poorly chosen, Miss Amy.”

 

Amy laughed softly, passing behind him as she picked up empty drinks at the Charger’s table. “No harm.” She half sang out. After a brief stop behind the bar, she brought Jessop a tall tankard.

 

“Oh, thass mighty kind, Miss Amy, but I don’t think I should drink any more…” Jessop slurred half leaning over the mouth of the tankard.

 

“S’water.” Amy said, patting the top of his head. “Help for hang-over.”

 

“Yeah, he’s gonna need all the help he can get.” One of the men muttered, eyeing Jessop critically.

 

Amy did not hear the door open nor did she see who came in because of Jessop’s next question.

 

“Miss Amy, how hold are you anyway? I mean, you’re barely even old enough to work here.”

 

…wut?

 

“Aw damn.” Varric said with a soft chuckle.

 

Cullen laughed against the rim of his tankard. Of course the soldiers with Jessop all had opinions as well.

 

“Kid.. You don’t ask a woman about her age.”

 

“It’s like the first rule.”

 

“Oh, shut it, Summers.”

 

“It’s ‘Somners’.”

 

“Yeah, whatever, Summers.”

 

“Much older.” Amy grunted.

 

“So, like…” Jessop squinted. “Like…20?”

 

Amy blinked at him. “Noooo.” She said… she knew he was drunk, but she’d said ‘much' older.

 

“You actually gonna give us a number?” This question came from Krem, but it sounded a lot more like a challenge.

 

“Twehty. Nine.” Amy said, wondering what the big fuss was about.

 

Especially when one of the men spat his drink out… Luckily, he remembered enough to face the wall, so the resulting explosion didn’t actually land on anyone.

 

“Ha!” This came from Bull, who proceeded to point at her with vicious glee. “I knew it! You were a milk-fed princess!”

 

She glared at him, shifting her weight and putting her hands on her hips. Some of the victory he seemed to have grasped faded with the heat from her eyes.

 

“No.” She growled. “Ya’don’t _eat_ milk. Ya drink it.” She shook her head. “Moron.”

 

“Well…I mean, don’t take this the wrong way, Amy..” Krem began. “But…you’re really…really…healthy lookin..” He gestured up and down, vaguely to her person. “Solid even…one might say.”

 

Bull shifted in place and grunt-coughed, waving in front of his face and staring pointedly at Krem.

 

“Healthy. Habits. Diets. Strong.” Amy corrected. “Naht…not..” She made a face and dumbed-down her voice, “milk-fed.” She snorted derisively.

 

Cullen also snorted. “Obviously.” He grunted. “You’re hair is long and lustrous, your teeth are strong, and your complexion is not pallid, and your muscle tone is…” it was only then that Cullen realized he was reciting as though it were an itemized list. He cleared his throat before eying the contents of his tankard. “Robust.” He finished before taking a swig of his drink. Bull was doing that grunty-throat-clearing thing that indicated Cullen should abort whatever he was attempting. “Suggests….protein, moreso than dairy.”

 

Amy snickered at him because he was so close to stuttering. It was also the most logical argument ever asserted. It seemed hilarious that Cullen choose to focus on the aspect of the conversation that concerned diet instead of social standing... Then again... she supposed diet was a big indicator  _of_ social standing.

 

“But… twenty-nine?” Varric asked, staring at her with skepticism clear in his face. “...are you sure?”

 

Amy nodded. “Winter.”

 

Technically, her birthday was on October 22. Jamie had gone on and on about her being born on a cusp between Libra and Scorpio or something, but she’d never put much faith in things like the zodiac. Still, if Jamie enjoyed saying that was the source of her odd behavior, then she could just knock herself out. If was funny if you thought about it.

 

Wait a minute, what was the Theadosian equivalent to October?….aw shit. Wait…was it Kingsway or Harvestmere?….it couldn’t be Firstfall. That was too late.

 

Varric blinked at her. “This past winter?” he asked.

 

Amy’s eyes ticked to the left, eying a particularly twisty knot of wood. “Is…winter…now?”

 

Varric smirked at her and then gave Cullen a look that read, ‘You wanna tell her, or should I?’. Cullen let out a long suffering sigh before murmuring.

 

“Actually, we’re nearly at the end of a Ferelden Summer.”

 

Amy stared in horror, her mouth agape and a severe frown pulling her entire face into a wilted mask of sorrow. “Nooooooo.” She whined. “Whyyyyyyyy!”

 

Damnable scoundrels the lot of them. They were all snickering at her. Sure, it was theatric, but it conveyed her sentiments of the climate accurately.

 

“Fine!” She spat, crossing her arms in dejection. “Twenty aayhhh… eight.” Her petulance was not helping her claims that she was, in fact, a grown ass woman.

 

“You still look pretty young for your age.” Krem said over the rim of his tankard.

 

“I’m tellin’ you…” Bull muttered. “Princess.”

 

“Well…we should be going. Jessop’s gonna need to sleep this off.” Already two of the other men were helping Jessop to his feet. “Thank you kindly, Ma’am.”

 

“Come again.” Amy said, waving in their general direction.

 

It was important to her to send them away with a smile this time. Even if Jessop didn’t remember any of it tomorrow, it was important that they all enjoyed themselves while they were here. They had enough to worry about.

 

“So. Do you suppose that Amy will steal the title from Sam?” Cullen asked Varric. Amy stared between them in complete confusion.

 

Varric laughed, first at Cullen’s question but then at Amy’s bewildered expression. “I call Sam ‘Princess’.” He clarified.

 

Her mouth rounded as it hung open before a grin settled on her face. “No wooonder he didn’t wahnt me nhug…know-ing.”

 

“He didn’t want you to know?” Varric asked before shaking his head. “Well. Shit.”

 

Amy swatted the concern away. “Would have… found out.”

 

“True.” Varric muttered. “And he’s not here to be a royal snit about it.”

 

“Hi.”

 

The new voice came from someone that Amy hadn’t seen enter the tavern. The minute that her eyes landed on the woman, Amy both recognized and was baffled by her.

 

The woman was standing behind Charter. She was an elf. Young. Her skin was the color of warm cappuccino, and her hair was raven black. It hung up in a high pony tail mostly, but some errant strands escaped to frame her face. She had beautiful green eyes, and no vallisl….wait. Wait she _did_ have a vallaslin, but it was almost the exact color as her skin tone, so you could only see it when you were really looking for it. It almost seemed like a ghost image….which vallislin was that?? It was so hard to tell when she couldn’t see it exactly

 

Anyway, she wore heavy leathers that reminded Amy an awful lot of the Avvar gear—specifically the stone-bear armor, but without the patchy paint look. There were less rips, teeth, and bangles strung about as well. So really it just looked like puffy, insulated armor with a long Avvar-like hooded overcoat over it.

 

“Charter.” The woman said in acknowledgment. Charter murmured something, left coin on the table, and then left. Amy watched all of this with mystified suspicion before easing her way forward and carefully collecting the coin. The woman only smiled and approached her, though she kept a few strides between them. “Sorry. I wanted to introduce myself. I’m Magpie.”

 

Amy blinked at that.

 

“Magpie?” She asked, letting the obvious doubt seeping into her surly tone.

 

The woman chuckled. “Yes. And you’re Charmer.” She smiled, taking another step closer to Amy. “I know you’re rather observant. You’ve probably seen me around.”

 

“Have.” Amy grunted.

 

“Here’s the thing, Charmer.” Magpie cut in, trying to get down to business (to defeat the Huns). “Sam has asked me to keep an eye on you for him.”

 

Amy blinked at that, looking to Varric who shrugged and held up his hands in surrender. Cullen was eyeing his tankard, pointedly not looking at her. Bull and the Chargers were all grinning, the bastards.

 

“So, I can either try to shadow you in secret, as I’ve been attempting…” She said with a skeptical expression on her face. “or I can expose his request and just trail along with you wherever you go.” She grinned, her hands fanning out…almost as though she were beckoning Amy in for a hug. “You are _clearly_ not a moron, so I thought this straightforward bit would help. At the very least, this eliminates the need for all that creeping about. The whole cloak-and-dagger routine can only get you so far, after all.”

 

Amy blinked at her for a moment. “Right.” She stuttered. Amy stared as the woman took Charter’s place at the other end of the table. “So you…. Work?… for Sam?”

 

“Ah..” Magpie blinked rapidly. “He and I… we’re in an…intricate situation.” Amy waited, taking a few steps back so that her back was against the bar, but she could still otherwise see the room. “We met at the conclave.” She continued, swallowing thickly. “He could’ve called the guards and had me arrested, but instead he helped me get away.” Her crooked smile now drooped slightly under the weight of grief. “I managed to return to our camp early… where it was safe. The others who’d come to spy on the conclave with me didn’t escape in time.”

 

“Dalish spies…” Amy murmured, her eyes widening before they softened in sympathy.

 

“Yeah..”

 

Amy blinked rapidly, trying to pull herself out of her own head. If her suspicions were correct, then 'Magpie' was from clan Lavellan. “Drinks?” she offered.

 

“Ah. An ale will do.” Magpie said with a smirk that hid so many scars.

 

Amy felt the need to avert her eyes, mostly out of courtesy. Something to help the other woman regain some composure.

 

She nodded and retreated behind the bar.

 

“Haven’t seen you around much.” Bull grunted.

 

“Well.. You know how it is. Assignments and all that.” Magpie grumbled. “Besides, it’s not much fun to come to the tavern without the old man around to tease.”

 

“Old man?” Cullen blinked, eyeing her from the corner of his eye.

 

Magpie smirk was like the big shark from Finding Nemo. “Solas.” Varric laughed at that.

 

Amy hummed. “Old.” Amy said with a grave nod.

 

Magpie gave a tiny, almost startled laugh. “Even strangers are saying it now. It’s not like you know his actual age. No one does.”

 

“If anyone would, it’d be Charmer.” This came from Krem, but Magpie rolled her eyes expressively.

 

“That’s right.” Varric’s words came almost as if he were only speaking to himself, but he was doing it out loud. “You don’t put much faith in our Charmer, do you, Birdy?”

 

Magpie smirked. “I’m Dalish, Master Dwarf.” Reminded, not unkind. In fact her voice though often teasing and light was more childlike than cruel…. Something about it reminded Amy of Harley Quinn. “We don’t get the proper lessons about your Andraste.”

 

“Ah, Charmer’s got nothing to do with Andraste.” Bull grunted. “She just knows what she knows.”

 

Amy didn’t hide the smirk. Damn if she hadn’t earned that sense of certainty from Bull. She wasn’t exactly sure when he’d decided that Qun or no Qun, Amy was legit… Obviously she’d made the cut.

 

“Hm… I wonder.” Cullen murmured, his eyes appraising Amy. “Perhaps you could tell us something we haven’t been able to figure out. Something that ‘Magpie’ wont share with us.” His now-narrowed gaze turned critically to Magpie.

 

Amy brought a tankard of ale to Magpie and waited for Cullen to elaborate.

 

“She still won’t tell us anything about her clan.” Cullen said. “Not that I think for one second that Leliana doesn’t know _something_. But she hasn’t shared that with us, and neither has Magpie.”

 

Varric made a strange grunt of acknowledgment. “You think Charmer can tell us that?”

 

Magpie smirked as if she had all the right cards to play and she was about to steal Cullen’s pants… a very real possibility.

 

Amy couldn’t really help herself. She didn’t like seeing that smug expression much. And she especially didn’t like the idea that anyone could just _challenge_ the commander of the Inquisition in such a flippant manner.

 

Maybe it was a gamble, but Amy would take that bet. She leaned down and said. “How _is_ Desh aahna?”

 

Magpie’s neck could’ve cracked, her head spun about so fast. She stared at Amy, and Amy had the distasteful notion that the woman was reevaluating her… She wasn’t sure if this reappraisal would result in some unknown danger form the elf, but… well. Sam trusted Magpie, obviously.

 

“You _don’t_ know my Keeper.” Magpie said decisively, eyeing Amy almost from head to toe. “You can’t. I would’ve seen someone like _you_ around.”

 

“Never said I did.” Amy corrected, earning a set of eyes that narrowed in suspicion.

 

“Hot damn.”Varric chuckled, breaking some of the tension and snapping Magpie’s attention to him. “She _does_ know.” Even Cullen looked a touch shocked. Perhaps he wasn’t as confident in her knowledge and this had been a test.

 

“I know.” Amy half sang before skipping behind the bar. She had no intention of elaborating, because Magpie hadn't. When it became apparent that Amy wasn't going to say more on the issue, she practically deflated on top of her stien. Amy took the time to fill another tankard with water before bringing it to Cullen. “Drink.” She ordered, arms crossed.

 

He huffed out a laugh before inclining his head. “Ma’am.” He said before taking a sip of water. He blinked, realization dawning as he tasted what was in his mug. Then he smiled and continued, taking greater gulps at a time.

 

“Get used to it, Curly.” Varric groused. “It’s just how Charmer is. She frets over everyone.”

 

“Yeah…” Krem grumbled. “I overheard her asking Seggrit if he was ‘hydrating properly and taking plenty of rest breaks’.”

 

Varric stared at her as if her actions literally pained him. “Are you trying to encourage the man?”

 

“What?” Amy half laughed, but she was also half outraged. “Honestly.” She grunted, crossing her arms over her chest.

 

“Nah, Varric’s probably right.” Magpie said with a grin in Charmer’s direction. “I’m already in love with you, and we’ve only known each other for approximately five seconds.” She elaborated before bating her eyelashes in a flurry.

 

“That happens to everyone.” Cullen said, in what had to be the most dry form of reassurance ever.

 

“Even you?” Magpie asked coquettishly. He stared at her, fighting off a blush before finally snarking back.

 

“Everyone.” He repeated, though somewhat grudgingly. “If I have to hear Wystan or Markham repeat something she did or said…” he shook his head.

 

Amy suddenly felt a touch uncomfortable… She wasn’t sure who Markham was, but Wystan had been a lot… well. Kinder wasn't the correct word. He was still awfully cranky, but he’d been a lot less resistant.

 

She’d had men ‘declare themselves’ to her a time or two in her life, but very few were the sort she took seriously… She knew how to be direct, but… if such overtures started here, she’d have to do it carefully. It was hard to reject someone and be kind at the same time. Some men took that as encouragement to continue trying to convince you…which was annoying.

 

“You’re worried about him, aren’t you?” Varric grumbled, shaking his head. “Honestly, yourself.”

 

“What now?” Cullen asked, looking between them.

 

“You mean you haven’t noticed?” Varric grumbled. “Charmer’s always worried about the other guy.”

 

Cullen stared at her before nodding. “You are rather sympathetic in nature…though that never seems to translate to yourself.”

 

Amy’s expression was soft, tempered by equal parts of exhaustion and joy. “My destiny, harrying me with trials hard as yours, led me as well, at last, to anchor in this land.” She smiled at Cullen’s startled expression. “Schooled in suffering, now I learn to comfort those who suffer too.”

 

“Andraste’s ass..” Varric said, shifting in his seat. “Where’s my quill when I need it.”

 

“Please tell me you’re gonna quote her on that.” Magpie said. “That was fucking profound.”

 

“Are you kidding me? Of course I’m going to quote her on that.”

 

“Looks like Sam may have to worry about someone stealing his thunder.” Bull said with a laugh. “The dwarf may’ve just found a new source of inspiration.”

 

And then the room grew quiet.

 

“…Hey, what are you doing here anyway, Curly?” Varric asked suspiciously. "This isn't exactly your scene." 

 

Cullen blinked. He cleared his throat, finishing off the water that Amy had given him before responding. “I came to walk Amy back to the chantry once she closes for the night.”

 

“Oooh. Sweet.” Magpie said, her chin perched over the rim of her tankard. “A little over-kill. The Commander walking you there and all, but considering that the Qunari woman couldn’t intimidate people away…” She shrugged before gulping the last of her drink.

 

“She’s not Qunari.” Amy said, laying her hands flat on the bar and pulling herself up to sit on it. She was secretly pleased that she could say the word 'not' and it sounded like not instead of naht. Small victories.

 

“Charmer’s right.” Bull grunted. “She’s not.”

 

Magpie blinked in confusion but only shrugged, declining to ask about the distinction.

 

Discussion seemed to die out after that. Everyone was more interested in finishing up their drinks, as though Cullen’s words had heralded the late hour. Amy always offered water to the Chargers, but they always laughed at her. Varric too. She was a little amused when Magpie announced that her tolerance was legendary enough not to _need_ water.

 

Everyone eventually filed out, and Amy washed the glasses while Cullen leaned against the closed door.

 

“Could go, Cul’n.” Amy said. “You _need_ sleep.”

 

He snorted a humorless laugh. “Believe me. That’ll probably be impossible to avoid tonight.” He said, raking a hand through his hair. Amy surveyed him critically, marginally worried about why he felt this was necessary.

 

“Why?”

 

“Why do I think I’m not long in the waking world?”

 

“No. Why walk?” She asked, finally shelving the last glass and walking to his side.

 

“Initially... I wanted to make sure you were safe, of course. But then, as is normal when I get exhausted, my brain began to circle around questions and details, and...and I wanted to ask...” He sighed, opening the door and leading the way outside. “Early on… back when you weren’t very capable of communicating, you mentioned something about 'army coming'. I thought then that you meant the army was coming along…” he stared at her long and hard.

 

Amy shook her head. “An. Army. Is. Coming.” She ground out. She turned and searched out the hill that Corypheus and either Calpernia or Samson always made their entrance on. “There. Bulk over tha mountain.” It only occurred to her that her position and words mimicked Cullen’s from the cinematic of In Your Heart Shall Burn.

 

Cullen’s nostrils flared, eyes searching the darkened foothills, before closing. “Do you know when?”

 

“After Sam… seals breech.”

 

He stared at her. “So.. Samuel will be able to seal the breech then?” She nodded. “Do you know if it would be better to contact the Templars or the Mages?” Amy’s shoulders slumped. “What? What is it?”

 

“So much, Cullen.” She said shaking her head. “There’s… so much. Ahn all.. So bad.”

 

He swallowed thickly, turning back to the chantry. “Leliana has been debating on whether or not we should call you in to a war room meeting. I think…perhaps that would be best.” Amy only nodded in response. “It’s good to see you so amenable to the prospect.”

 

“ _Can_ be ah…ahmeeean able.” Amy bleated.

 

“On occasion.” Cullen said, looking back at that hill. Amy stuck her tongue out at him, which he only saw out of the corner of his eye. She stopped when he looked back, but he still had the most baffled expression on his face. “You should take better care of yourself.” He said seriously.

 

“Hello, Pot.” Amy growled. “This is ket’l. Yur black.”

 

Cullen chuckled. “Yes. But no one takes care of you.” He complained. “You take care of me the same way you try to take care of everyone else.” This reminder wasn’t specifically needed, but Cullen was tired.

 

“Only …in part …for you.” Cullen stared at her, waiting expectantly. “Part for Meee ah.”

 

His eyes widened, before a laugh burst out of him. “I keep forgetting that you do that.” He said shaking his head as though to clear it. “So, you know about Mia.”

 

She nodded. “An Bran, an Rose. Should write.” Amy murmured. “But not tonight. Sleep.” She stopped at the chantry door and stared at Cullen, her gaze keen and severe. “Rest well. Wake reh-freh shhhed.”

 

Cullen smiled, weary and worried but somehow encouraged. “You as well, Miss Amy.” With that he retreated, as did she.

 

As Amy dragged herself into her room, she had to marvel over this turn of events.

 

In the early days, she had tried so hard to gain attention from anyone in the inner circle to warn them, but it had always been dismissed as insane ramblings. Now, she hadn’t really _tried_ to warn anyone. She’d just lived from day to day, working on her goals one step at a time…

 

She smiled as she remembered the words of Dwight Moody. “Lighthouses don’t fire cannons to call attention to their shining - they just shine.”

 

Maybe, in the end, all she needed was to live her life, and then everyone would eventually figure out that she knew what she was doing.

 

For the first time since Amy was 14, as she lay down for the night she found herself praying. It was nothing dynamic, and it was addressed to no one in particular. Simply a heartfelt wish that those she loved who she'd made a home and family with here would find peace... as well as those she'd left behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “My destiny, harrying me with trials hard as yours, led me as well, at last, to anchor in this land. Schooled in suffering, now I learn to comfort those who suffer too.” ~ This is a quote from the Aeneid. Dido says this to Aeneas.


	20. Logical Orlesian Hair Cut

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> O..O
> 
> Wow.
> 
> Ok, so ...this chapter is just...it's HUGE, you guys. Not even kidding. Without the notes and responses, it's over 7,000 words. I'm not at all surprised by how long it took me to crank this one out. 
> 
> Partially because the video was something I was working on as well, but mostly because a LOT happens in this chapter. I'm...I'm just going to let you guys get to it.

At this point, Amy was quite used to having something that felt monumental revealed only to have nothing happen. Or at least, have it feel as though nothing were happening.

 

What was new was Cullen telling her that he was sorry she hadn’t been ushered into the war room yet. According to him, Leliana was “dragging her dug-in heels”. Something about wanting the reports along with Sam back before allowing her to plead her case.

 

On the one hand, she was ok with that. She had a feeling that the war room was going to become a horrible purge for her, or perhaps a masochistic testing ground. She would either have to offer up as much information about the movements of their foes….and wait while that was confirmed. Or she’d have to spew it all out and watch as the horror settled on everyone else when they realized what a monumental task they had.

 

…On the other hand…she felt responsible… She had no idea how to prevent the men on the field from falling to whatever force Corypheus brought to them, nor did she know whether or not the mages or templars would(or could?) be saved… If she meddled, there would be consequences, and she wasn’t sure how well she could adapt to those consequences. Would her aid actually benefit anyone? Would it bring them even more catastrophe?

 

Either way, she knew that the only solution she had was to be forthright about the foes they would be facing. What they decided to do with that knowledge…that was going to be Sam’s decision.

 

There were certain elements of life that _had_ changed. Most notably were the men and women on the field. The resentment and hostility seemed almost entirely abated. What was left behind was admiration or at the very worst a measuring gaze that held plenty of questions but no accusations….it felt odd. Especially since Amy had no idea what caused the change.

 

She knew better than to relax entirely, because Siheta did not relax. Even so, the mood on the field had gotten much more relaxed between the soldiers and the mages. That was encouraging.

 

Some of the more bold warriors even flirted with Macie… shamelessly. She flirted back. Equally shameless. It was almost cute….if it hadn’t been so blatantly cheesy.

 

Then again…they were in Ferelden. There would always be a cheese factor.

 

It had been four days since her evening at the tavern and her conversation with Cullen. They’d received a bird saying that Sam and his team were a day out and would be in Haven by tomorrow.

 

It was at a point when they had finished walking the field, and Ser Wystan, Macie, Elossa, and Bax, had been dismissed and left Amy and Siheta standing in open neutral space not far from the field…that was when Siheta said, “I’ve been experimenting on you.”

 

Amy took a second to process that before staring at Siheta, taken aback. “ _Quoi_?” she said at last.

 

Siheta took a long breath. “I have…many theories about you. I’ve been discrete, but I needed to test a few of them.” Amy waited, in a state of curious neutrality. “I have said already that you are not like us. I’ve taken my time testing my ability to hear you in the same capacity that I can hear anyone else.”

 

“And?”

 

“I can read you with relative ease at this point,” Siheta said with a grin. “Thus, I proceeded to the next stage of my experiment.”

 

“…Next?” Amy was somewhat startled to note that she wasn’t at all bothered by the idea of Siheta ‘experimenting’ on her. She felt _that_ safe with the woman.

 

“Next, I endeavored to test your tolerance to ambient magic.”

 

…Well.. That sounded…interesting.

 

“You are….you are not at all like us, Amy. I think you already know that. That leads me to believe that you…that you…” Siheta eyed the horizon, not sure how to proceed. “You aren’t from here. You are made too different…and yet, not.” She swallowed, her molars grinding.

 

“It’s very hard to explain, but… from what I gather, we are essentially made up the same sort of way…” She shrugged carelessly. “We’re all essentially like… like earth and rock. But here, the fade and magic exists, beside us and on top of us and sometimes inside of us. We’re like the earth and rock that exists beneath the ocean. Some of us have pockets of water inside of us, great and small, that flows through us from the ocean. Some don’t, they only have the water that seeps into them….” She made a face. “Kind of…”

 

“Kind of?”

 

“It isn’t a perfect metaphor.” Siheta admitted. “But essentially, it’s like that. But where you’re from, you’re similar enough in that you and your people are all rock and earth as well. You’re just…above the water, in open air. Some of you have hidden chambers with springs…and sometimes that trickles out of you into the real world, but it doesn’t work like magic here…” Siheta sighed, and shook her head before pressing a palm to her forehead, fingernails scratching the base of her horns. “This metaphor is really getting away from me.”

 

Amy chuckled softly.

 

“What I’m really trying to say is…” Siheta shifted. “There _is_ a sort of magic in your world too. It’s bound to your life force and your will power…but it’s nonmaterial. It’s the sort of thing that exists inside of each of you. The only way it gets out into your world is if you work to bring it out, but even then it’s…not like the magic we have here.”

 

Amy considered this, her eyes narrowing slightly, her brow furrowed critically. This was…interesting conjecture, but she didn’t really understand how it translated to anything else.

 

“What…means?”

 

“The magic is bound up inside of you. It’s…air tight, sealed away, and there’s no way for you to express it in your world except but to work somehow to get it out. It’s…” Siheta sighed. “I’m talking in circles….”

 

“So… creativity and…imah…hagina-shun? Is magic?” Amy frowned but nodded, thinking that wasn’t exactly false.

 

“Yes. Something like that.” Siheta said nodding. “And that’s why I think singing is so important to you.” She elaborated, making Amy blink out her confusion in morse code. “Think about it. Think about every time you’ve sung a song, even when you thought it wasn’t quite right or weren’t in the mood… Didn’t it change things? Didn’t it have an effect on others or yourself?”

 

Amy thought about that, trying to ignore the cold feeling of dread that seeped into her gut. She had no idea what that could mean if it were at all true. If…if there were forms of magic that resided inside of her the way that Siheta was describing, and they were accustom to being expressed via works of creativity…firstly, it sounded ludicrous. Clap your hands if you believe levels of ridiculous.

 

…Amy took a second to swallow down her unease.

 

And beautiful, in its own way.

 

“Ah..ahsumin’ that…is true..” She shrugged. “What?”

 

“It could be why you’re not adapting to this realm as readily as you might otherwise… it took you, what? A month to be able to walk around without being tired?”

 

“..but..the lyrium.”

 

“You show _no_ signs of lyrium poisoning, and quite frankly… You _should_.” Siheta smiled. That smile wilted slightly from her sobering thoughts. “I’m very grateful for this natural tendency of yours to resist magic in that case, but… it also explains your resistance to healing and potions.”

 

Solas’s words suddenly echoed in her ears. Hadn’t he mentioned that the elfroot had done all that it could?…And if Siheta’s assumptions were correct, how did that translate exactly? What did it really mean?

 

“There’s more.”

 

“Of course.”

 

Siheta sighed. “Your body is essentially resisting the magic that’s all around it, right? Because it’s never needed it. But that’s liable to change as time goes by. I’m not entirely sure what will cause that change, or for that matter how you’ll be affected by it.” She took a deep breath. “I’ve theorized that you actually perform better when you’re around a higher concentration of magic.”

 

“Base is?”

 

“Observations. In the beginning you were always relatively weak when exposed to anything new. But, when you’re around the mages, it seems easier for you to speak to them. That could be because your body feels relaxed around them, or it could be that there’s more ambient magic near mages. In the beginning it was harder, but you’re body’s adapting to that factor…and you’re getting stronger.”

 

Amy considered her time around the mages, and Siheta’s ‘observations’. She was right about everything always leaving her in a weakened state in the beginning. But now?

 

She breezed around the mages, and there was an uncanny connection between them. It was as easy as recalling the times that Amy had sung a song, and the mages had reacted to it.

 

Siheta and Elossa had actually begun singing along that one time. And while Bax never _sang_ , he had started dancing with her… there had been no way to convey rhythm, and yet he’d managed to establish it properly.

 

Siheta was nodding. “Another reason why I feel your singing is tied to your inner magic.” She smiled softly. “It’s also connected to your emotions and your intent… which is why other people are moved when they hear you sing. You… reach out to them, even on the simplest levels.”

 

Now it was Amy’s turn to nod. She had noted people being moved by whatever mood was behind her songs… She had a decent enough voice, though not very unique. And yet people tended to behave as if it were special to hear her sing… She’d always felt a bit bashful about it, honestly.

 

“So… this… this magic.” She patted her own chest. “..sealed? Cave…above ground, now under wahhter.”

 

“Exactly. Still air-tight and suffering from the change, but otherwise intact…” Siheta nodded. “I’m not entirely sure what it would take to open you up. The barrier is, after all, natural. Breaking your seal could be risky, but…oh for goodness sake…”

 

Siheta was grinning even though she sounded so put out, but Amy was giggling madly. There were so many horribly dirty jokes running through her mind. All this talk of ‘breaching barriers’ and ‘opening up’ and carefully ‘breaking seals’ had her mind in the gutter. The best part being that she didn’t even have to make the obvious joke, as Siheta had already picked up on it.

 

“I would not recommend using sex to ‘breach’ your ‘seal’. Just to be clear.” Siheta grumbled with her own grin.

 

Amy snorted.

 

Because, you know…what else was there to do?

 

“Heeeey!” Magpie crowed while trotting over. “What are you guys whispering and giggling about over here?”

 

Magpie was never very far away from Amy. Much like Sam and the Maker, Amy imagined she was always in the corner of Magpie’s eye.

 

“Sex.” Amy said without the slightest bit of hesitation.

 

“Well! Color me intrigued. Any candidate specifically, or just in general?”

 

Amy bent backward, braying her laugh under the open sky while Siheta chose to keep her’s in tiny little shoulder shakes.

 

“Oh! Varric!” Amy blinked, noticing the dwarf approaching them.

 

“Oh, definitely Varric.” Magpie said, with a wide grin as she nodded.

 

Varric slowed as he approached them, suddenly wary. “…Um…Yes?”

 

“We’re talking about sex.” Magpie informed as though it were obvious and Varric really needed to try and keep up. The dwarf held his hands up in surrender.

 

“Yes. Obviously Varric.” Siheta said, nodding as she eyed the walls around haven.

 

“Duh.” Amy huffed in the same tone a surfer dude might say ‘cheyah!’.

 

Varric cleared his throat as loudly as he could before interrupting. “While I am flattered, ladies, I’m afraid I’m already taken.”

 

“Irrelevant.” Siheta grunted.

 

Magpie pretended to gasp. “Bold.”

 

“You honestly think you can take me away from Bianca?” Varric challenged with a smirk.

 

“….who said…she isn’t invited?” Amy challenged back.

 

Varric’s mouth hung open slightly, as whatever he was about to say vanished from his thoughts.

 

“Oh-ho-ho!” Magpie crowed, laughing like a lady villain from an anime.

 

Varric tried to recover, pinching the bridge of his nose while muttering, “Maker, it’s too early for this sort of talk.”

 

“It’s after noon.” Siheta pointed out.

 

“S’evening somewhere.” Amy grunted, and only got strange looks. It was then she remembered that Thedas was still a relatively small world. One small part of a hemisphere…their understanding of daylight savings…probably didn’t exist yet.

 

“Anyway, this _isn’t_ what I came out here to talk to you about.” Varric muttered, eyeing Amy with a small measure of resentment. “You won’t derail me either.” He said pointing first to her and then to Magpie… Huh. That sounded promising. “I don’t suppose if I asked you to stay away from the Tavern this afternoon, you’d do it.”

 

“Varric.” Magpie nearly growled, though it sounded more like a warning and less like a threat.

 

“I know, I know.” He said, waving her off.

 

“Why?” Amy asked. “Something bad? Something good?”

 

Varric huffed out a slow breath. “It’s…complicated.”

 

Magpie took a deep breath while her eyes rolled heavenward. “Leliana’s there, and she wants to have a conversation with you, but she doesn’t want you to know, and she doesn’t want anyone else to interfere, and she’s being pretty shady, but she’s said that she doesn’t mean any harm.” She sucked in another deep breath. “I guess that’s really it.” She said with a lazy shrug. “I think she was afraid if you knew, you’d bolt or something. Didn’t want you to ‘alter’ your behavior.” She shook her head, eyeing the mage’s tent. “Fuck if I know.”

 

Amy blinked at all of that…that... information vomit, processing it before turning to Siheta.

 

“I had no idea.” Siheta said with a slight frown.

 

Siheta had probably be preoccupied with her experiment, and also with listening for any threats… a person could only pay attention to so many things at once after all.

 

Amy shrugged. “Guess should go.”

 

Varric made a breathy huff. “After all that?”

 

Amy blinked at him. “Said not harm.”

 

“Well, yeah! But…” He rotated his jaw slightly as he tried to think of how to say that Leliana had been a bard, and a spy, and Maker-knows what all she’d been into as the left hand of the Divine… It wasn’t that she wasn’t exactly trust-worthy… but that didn’t mean she wasn’t dangerous.

 

“Look. Will be fine.” Amy said, waving a hand through the air as though she were swatting a fly away from her face. “Is public. Is day.”

 

“The good assassins don’t need to worry about people or daylight, dear.” Magpie reminded.

 

“Know. But…” Amy chewed at the edge of her cheek. “Trust Leliana.”

 

“Creator’s know why.” Magpie sighed. She placed both of her palms over the back of her neck, her elbows pointing up high as she arched her back just a bit in a stretch. “Well. I’m gonna go bother Bax and Macie.” She said before shuffling over to the mage’s tent.

 

Amy blinked at her retreating form and stared at Siheta.

 

Siheta shrugged. “Macie and Bax are the only ones she knows. Once she knows a few other mages, she’ll bother them too.” Amy snorted at that.

 

Amy checked the position of the sun, idly calculating about what time it was and whether it was ‘routine’ for her to be in the tavern at this time…

 

“You’re going to the tavern, then?” Siheta asked, though it almost seemed like more of a reminder than a question.

 

“Uh hah.” Amy said, not looking away from the sky, absently distracted by the glint of the breech’s light on the ice.

 

“We can continue our conversation later when I actually have more time to think about the ideas I’m trying to establish.” Siheta said.

 

“What conversation was that?” Varric asked, but then held up both hands. “Wait.. Was this a …girl-talk conversation, or a mage-ey conversation?”

 

“Magey wagey, wibbly wobbly, de-men-shon-al stuff.”

 

Varric stared at her with his brow furrowed until finally, she shrugged and just seemed to accept it. Amy took a breath to brace herself and then began.

 

“Hey…” Varric barked. “Just…be careful.”

 

Amy smiled back at him before continuing on her way. She breezed herself into the tavern, and behind the bar before looking up and finding Leliana seated at the table.

 

“So, who told you?” Leliana asked with a smile. “Was it Sam’s little Magpie?”

 

“No.” Amy said, smiling as well. “Did sing, but only after.”

 

“Was it Bull, then?”

 

“Ha!” Amy chuckled, getting clean glasses ready. “Bull can’t sing.”

 

She sighed. “Then it was Varric.” Amy heard the wood creak as Leliana rose from her chair, approaching the bar.

 

“Can’t help. He cares.” She said turning about with a bottle of red wine and a bottle of whiskey. She poured the red wine into a half glass and pushed it to Leliana, and poured some whiskey out for herself.

 

Leliana eyed the glass cryptically, watching as Amy took a sip of her whiskey. “It’s a little early, isn’t it?”

 

“S’five oh cl-ahk some where.” She smirked at Leliana’s look of confusion. “S’a sayin we have…back home.”

 

“Ah.” Leliana seemed to think for a beat before lifting the glass to her lips and taking a sip. She smiled, enjoying that taste in spite of her reservations.

 

Amy had the wild idea that this was going to be the sort of situation in which, if it were taking place in a movie, the two of them would be smoking cigarettes while leaning against a wall and avoiding eye contact. The two of them would be eyeing everything else but each other, taking drags off their cigarettes to buy time while they thought of responses to each other. Then at the very end, they would share the most intense eye contact before grinding out their cigarettes, putting their hands in their coat pockets and saunter off in different directions. Ambivalent by every observer, but the turmoil would coil inside of both of them. 

 

..they’d have to make due with booze.

 

“I have had eyes on you from every angle.” Leliana said at last. “They have all reported the same thing. You do not deviate from course, you do not behave suspiciously…. you are, for all intents and purposes, working towards helping the Inquisition from within. However, in spite of all of this boasting of your character, you carry knowledge that you should not have.”

 

“Logical.” Amy said with a nod before taking another sip of her drink. “Not spy, not bard, not ahh…ay-gent, not soldier. Just woman. Knows much.”

 

“Too much, some might say.” Leliana's statement was accompanied by a slight head tilt, her face somewhat sympathetic. 

 

Amy nodded. “Too much.” She met Leliana’s eyes and smiled. “Logical deh-duk-shun?”

 

“By all means, proceed.”

 

“By your own reeeeports, you know I work for Ink-wa-zition.” Amy said, letting her pointer finger absently skim across the rim of her glass. “So. If I know much. And I work for better Ihn…In-qwa-zition.” She ground her molars but kept moving on. “Then, benefit you.”

 

Leliana was maintaining serious eye contact with the contents of her glass. “That has occurred to me.”

 

“Rezer-va-shun… If I _am_ spy…. Ahlowing me to ‘help’ is opening I need.”

 

“That has occurred to me as well.”

 

Amy nodded. “Tough call.”

 

Leliana smiled at her, and it wasn’t malicious or conniving at all. “Your appreciation of my circumstances is most refreshing.” She sat back on her stool and sighed. "I can't tell you the number of times both Josie and our dear Commander have, in essence, told me to just get over it." she shook her head.

 

“Know much, Leliana.” Amy said with a soft smile. “Know you.”

 

Leliana’s eyes lowered to the bar. “Yes.. You said you ‘missed me’.”

 

“Hm.” Amy murmured, noncommittally.

 

“I am faced with two options. Either you are one of the best agents that I have ever met, or you are an unfortunate woman who knows far more than she should.”

 

“And, no way to ease you.” Amy said, before opening her jaw wide and rotating her neck just a bit. There was an uncanny tenseness in her jaw and neck, and it was not helping this conversation in the least. Of course, it could have very well be the result of this conversation. “If I ask…’how can I prove?’, is just as sus-piss-yus for both.”

 

Leliana’s eyebrows ticked up just slightly and she nodded. “Lucky for you, among the eyes I have had on you… I was able to call in a favor from an old friend. He’s quite the pro at reading people.”

 

Amy’s brow furrowed as she considered the consequences of what _that_ could mean.Leliana had _many_ contacts, after all. It could mean anyone at all.

 

“I know?”

 

“That’s part of what I would like to discover.” The Spymaster said with a smile. Finally, she made eye contact. “You know a lot of things you should not know… I would like to see how that holds with someone who is not part of the Inquisition and yet is very much part of my past.”

 

And like he had always been there (because he always had), he emerged from the shadows, all contradictions. A man who should seem quite out of place as he was all warm, honey-golden and smiles beneath that dark cape and dreded cowl. The ridiculous bird beak attached to the top of the cowl did not look so ridiculous, as it obscured much of his face, leaving only a mischievous grin beneath that ominous black hood. She knew who it was before he tipped it back and smirked at her.

 

Amy made a very strangled squeak-like noise and quickly fell into a deep crouch, her hands still clinging to the bar. “Cahnt.” She whimpered. “He’s too pretty.”

 

“Oh-ho! I think I am going to like this one.”

 

His voice wasn’t _a_ sin, it was _all_ the sins.

 

“My friend here has been shadowing you for quite some time.” Leliana said, sounding so smug it smarted.

 

“ _Qué_?” Amy chirped, still cowering behind the bar.

 

“His technique has improved much since we first met.”

 

“Honestly, Leliana. Must you always come back to that?” he asked, and Amy heard him sit at the bar next to Leliana.

 

There was very little she could do. In spite of this being a situation she _never_ could have anticipated….it was happening. There was nothing for it. She would have to live with her hammering heart rate and this rickety feeling in her ribs.

 

She reached down and grabbed another glass before sliding it up onto the bar, still out of sight. She reached back and grabbed a well-hidden bottle of brandy, and put that up on the bar as well.

 

“….Really, _really_ going to like this one.” Zevran said. “Come now, _Bonita_. Share a drink with us.” He practically purred.

 

Geh.

 

Something in the timbre of his voice was playing merry hell on her ribs. With a mental smack, Amy reminded herself that she was not a shrinking violet. She schooled her face and took a settling breath. Then she stood, as though she had not been hiding behind the counter. She drained what was left of her own whisky and poured herself another glass. After that, she made certain that Zevran had his own glass of brandy. This conversation could not exist without everyone having ciagarettes... Whatever-after.

 

“Do you have anything you’d like to say to Zevran, Amy?” Leliana asked, and Amy could see the mischief in her as the Spymaster stared seemingly amused at her own wine. Zevran blinked over at Leliana questioningly before his eyes returned to Amy’s.

 

Amy laced her fingers together so she could cradle her chin in both hands. She let her eyes met Zevran’s as a nearly predatory smirk played on her lips, and began what was perhaps the worst joke she could think of, “The symphony I see in thee, It whispers songs to me.” Leliana blinked her confusion, staring at Amy as though she were asking to eat bugs for supper. Zevran had stilled, his eyes rounded slightly. “Songs of hot breath upon my neck. Songs of soft sighs by my head. Songs of nails upon my back. Songs of thee, come to my bed.”

 

“Eugh.” Leliana half grumbled, her mouth puckering in a disapproving frown. “How horrible. Where did you hear such a travesty?”

 

Amy maintained eye contact with Zevran, who cleared his throat softly and shifted in place. One might even say he was…squirming.

 

“That is, word for word, a poem I once heard and repeated to our fairest of Grey Wardens.”

 

“No!” Leliana’s head snapped to stare at Zevran in aghast shock. “You said this? To Thalia Theirin?”

 

“She was Thalia Cousland at the time.” Zevran half-groaned, half-whined. “I like her maiden name better than her married name. Such an inelegant mix of th’s, let me tell you.”

 

“She has such a wretched sense of humor!” Leliana giggled. “I imagine it made her giggle. Did she snort?” Leliana asked, caught up in nostalgic thoughts of her old adventures.

 

“Indeed, she may have.” Zevran said, smirking though his keen eyes never left Amy, who now sipped her whiskey in a rather self-satisfied manner.

 

Leliana’s laughter evaporated as realization dawned on her. She’d been thrown off by the absurdity of what Amy had been saying… but now.

 

“She was a Cousland when you said this to her?”

 

“ _Sí_.”

 

Leliana’s eyes swiveled slowly up to Amy, before she continued. “Is the poem very well known?” she asked in a tone that conveyed she may very well know the answer already.

 

“It was not ten years ago, and I doubt it has grown in popularity since.” Zevran took the time to consider the brandy in his glass. “I suppose we can add _that_ to more of the information she knows, though she should not.” He said before taking a sip of his brandy.

 

“The greatest concern is how.” Leliana began. “Are you a seer or mystic?”

 

“No.” Amy said, feeling her entire face wrinkle up in distaste. “Tho… Have _seen_ …But only know…what I know.”

 

“How is still the most prevalent question.” Leliana maintained, now focused on Amy. Mostly because, yes it was important. Also because she was actually getting answers.

 

Amy, for her part, knew she could only be, as they say, straight about it. If she told anything falsely, she had a sense that Leliana would know it… and then, that falsehood would tint everything else she said in suspicion.

 

“I am..not from…” Amy’s hands expanding outward slightly, motioning to her immediate surroundings. “Here..” She finished at last.

 

“We could tell that just by looking at you, my dear.” Zevran said, focusing on his glass for too keenly. It made Amy think that he was listening for tells that she wasn’t even aware she would be giving.

 

“No. Not from all here.” She sighed. It would _never_ be easy to explain, would it? “Not from Thay-das. World. Planet. Uni-verse.” That earned her two sets of narrowed eyes. “Where I am from, this world, Thedas?..is… inter-active narrahhh-tive.” Her audience remained silent. “Is story, but… is story you are part of. Great way.” She felt a strange calm settle over her, as nostalgia crept into her muscles and her mind. “Was War-den. Was Hawk. Was Ink-wizih-ter.”

 

“You were… I’m sorry, I’m just…” Zevran swallowed, staring at the bar or his glass on the bar or maybe nothing at all. “You were a Grey Warden?”

 

“The Warden. Many timez.” Amy said nodding, a soft smile on her face. She made eye contact with Zevran. “You… you told me of _her_. Of Taliesen. Of Dalish glah-ves and Ahntee-van boots.” Her eyes wandered over to Leliana. “You sang elf song. Mother’s smell Andraste’s Grace. Marjolaine and Schmooples.” She sighed. “Some times…we were friends… were lovers. Always heroes.” She said before taking a large sip, because damn.

 

“This all sounds…quite mad, you understand?” Zevran said, mostly to Leliana who was staring at Amy as though she had all of the keys to the kingdom. The Spymaster's mind was obviously whirling with the all this knew input.

 

“It would explain much. How she seems to know things as though she had been there, heard the conversations and saw what happened directly.”

 

“So you are choosing to believe that this woman knows _everything_ that has happened.” Zevran asked, incredulous.

 

Amy made a ‘nuh-huh’ noise, somewhat obscured by the whiskey that had just burned down her throat. “Don’t know all. Don’t even know what _did_ happen. Just know what _could_.”

 

“What good does _that_ do you?” Zevran asked.

 

“Much.” Amy chrimed indignantly. “Instance? You say Thalia Theirin. Know already she was either rogue or wooor….warrior. Carried either sword and shield, or dual weapons, or bow.” She tried to swallow, but her throat was tensing up again. “Her family all muhur…mur-dured. Joined Grey Wardens.” She waved her hand. “Is past. She married Alice-stare. Is queen.”

 

“Anyone can tell you this.” Zevran said.

 

“Father called her Pup.”

 

Zevran’s eyes widened just slightly, and Leliana took that moment to remind him, “The Cousland’s holdings in Highever burned to the ground before the Blight started. This included all the books and any of their written accounts, not that it would matter. Thalia told me her father would never have written _that_ down anywhere… it was too personal.”

 

“See…what I know is paw… paaahsab-ilities.” Amy said. “Know that Warden can be Cousland, Amell, Surana, Tabris, Mahariel, Aeducan, or Brosca.”

 

“All of those names are familiar, except.. I don’t know anyone named Surana.” Zevran said.

 

Amy nodded. “Elf Mage.” She leaned on her elbows. “Par tiss-iahpant starts with choice. Which Warden… to be?” She held up one hand with three fingers up. “Human, Elf, Dwarf.” She pointed to her pointer finger. “If human - be warrior, or rogue as Cousland; or, be mage as Amell.” Leliana was staring at her hand in rapt fixation while Zevran blinked rapidly. “Elf is more. Surana is circle mage, Tabris is city elf, Mahariel is Dalish. Mahariel and Tabris can be warrior or rogue.” She nodded and pointed to her ring finger. “Dwarf commoner Brosca or Dwarf nobility Aeducan, and both can be warrior or rogue.”

 

“And you’ve participated in this narrative many times?”

 

Zevran huffed out a breath. “That must’ve taken ages.”

 

Amy nodded. “Did.” She grunted. “Warden makes all decisions, has options deh-pen-ding. See..” Amy rocked back slightly, holding onto the edge of the bar with her hands so that she could do so without fear or falling over. It was a real danger because she was getting slightly tipsy, and she hadn’t eaten, and she was also pretty tired from all this… tense chaos.

 

“De-zine-ers… Make narrative and sell to par-tiss-ahpators. Warden makes all decisions, and shapes world.” She leaned back in, balancing her weight on her belly against the edge of the bar. She held up both hands, palm up. “Kill where-wolves, save elves.” She said looking at her left hand. Then she turned her gaze on her right hand. “Kill elves, save where-wolves.” She put both hands together. “Make peace.” She settled back against the bar again. “Decisions, great and small, all shape world. Save Redcliff, Side with Mages, Andraste’s Ashes, Peace with Dalish, Destroy Anvil, Landsmeet…been there. Done all. Well… ” she frowned. “Some decisions…different for…different characters.”

 

“How so?”

 

She shrugged. “Always tell Athras ‘bout Danyla. Never corrupted Andraste’s ashes. Sometimes kill Flemmeth, sometimes bargain.” She shrugged again, as though to bracket the statement.

 

Zevran shook his head, and his eyes landed on Leliana. He seemed to still, slow realization seeping through him. “You believe her.” He said, astonished.

 

“You think she is lying?”

 

“No!” Zevran was quick to deny. “No. Certainly, she is being honest. I do not think she is lying, but…she could be quite mad.” He said, his eyes widening expressively.

 

“Heard _that_ before.” Amy grumbled, putting a stopper in the whiskey and putting it back on the shelf. She still had a little bit of her second drink in her glass, but she couldn’t justify having another. One drink? Sure. Two drinks? Why not? But three?…that was excessive.

 

“How could you even consider any of this as possible?” Zevran asked.

 

Leliana smirked. “How about this then? Maybe you’re a spy, or maybe you’re just someone who knows things. It doesn’t matter. But you’re in a city, and the officials of that city sequester you, and question you.” Her eyes snapped to Zevran’s. “Would you tell the officials anything like this?”

 

“Of course not.” He growled.

 

“Why?”

 

“Because it’s…” he paused, his eyes wavering to a forgotten corner of the room as his mind worked over what she was asking. “It’s unbelievable.” He said somewhat blandly.

 

“Exactly.” Leliana said. “She is either lying, mad, or truthful… All of these factors cancel out each other, thus she can only be one of them. We have ruled out that she is lying. This leaves that she is either mad or truthful. If what she says _is_ the truth, then she cannot be mad.” Leliana’s gaze was fierce, though Zevran wasn’t actually staring back at her.

 

“Logical.” Amy murmured.

 

“That logic seems… questionable at best.” Zevran snarked.

 

“Forget the circumstances of _how_ she knows, consider only what she knows. It has all been the truth. Thus, I am led to believe that she knows everything.”

 

Amy made a somewhat hesitant, negative humming noise, as she held up one hand.

 

Leliana smiled. “Alright then. She knows everything about what _could_ be, given certain circumstances.”

 

Amy pointed at Leliana and nodded. Both women waited expectantly as they stared at Zevran. Finally, the man shook his head with a huff.

 

“It’s…It's a little much.” He said, by way of excuse. He still didn’t seem entirely convinced either way. 

 

Still…neither of these people were trying to kill her, so Amy wasn’t even mad about it. In the words of Dorian, doubt is good.

 

“Samuel’s party will be returning tomorrow.” Leliana said after she finally finished off her wine. This held a touch of amusement for Amy. It was almost as if she’d decided to reward herself for discovering all this by drinking the rest of the wine that she had in her glass…which..she would’ve drunk anyway. But whatever. “I will let Josie and our dear Commander know that you will be joining us for meetings from now on.”

 

Amy absently wondered if she would inherit Cullen’s problem with being unable to find the time and ability to sleep.

 

Zevran still looked a little shell-shocked, so Amy plucked the edge of his glass. When their eyes met, she smiled. “I give you poem, since…you gave me one.”

 

“Oh dear.” He huffed. “Very well. It seems an even trade.” Amy waited till he seemed settled and ready to hear this performance.

 

“On broken feet I walk. Crushed and alone. The lies they’ve told me have turned the world grey.” Her voice cracked under the strain, the sorrow in the words conveyed perfectly in her wounded tone. Then she took a deep, renewing breath, “But, oh!” she said on a breathy exhale. She smiled a bittersweet smile, “That you still breathe and live…..is a song in this void that gives me life again.” Amy smirked. “Nadia Grel. Swooo Tor.” She said, holding up her glass as if to give a toast, and then finishing off her whiskey.

 

Zevran stared, then shifted just slightly before clearing his throat. “That was…very nice.”

 

“Indeed. Not 'even' at all, since this poem was much better than the first.” Leliana said, rising. “Now if the two of you will excuse me.”

 

They watched as Leliana glided through the door and left the dark tavern for the blinding light of Haven.

 

“So.” Amy said, perking up slightly. “You seem well. Eat nuff? Drinking water?”

 

Zevran laughed. “Ah, _Bonita_ , I have heard you say that same thing to so many people since I started watching you.” He said shakin his head. “I suppose it's possible for a mother hen to grow a bit mad, with so many recreient babes.”

 

“Worse reputations.” Amy said with a shrug. “Like yours.”

 

“Oh!” Zevran winced as if wounded. “Slander and lies.”

 

Amy grinned. “Request?”

 

Zevran eyed her. “You can alway ask, my dear.”

 

“If ever someone… hires you to kill me?” she said, pointing at him. The humor seemed to simply vanish in him at those words. “Promise you fuck me first?”

 

Zevran belted out a laugh that chased away all that nasty cynicism from earlier. It could not be contained, because it was a shock that brought him directly out of that dark place.

 

Amy sang out the simplest of lines, “If you’re gonna be the death of me, that’s how I want to go.”

 

“Oh, _Bonita_.” He said, still laughing. “I…” he chuckled softly, finally managing to get his laughing fit under control. He cleared his throat at length before continuing. “I give you my solemn oath, most Charming one.” He said with mock severity, completely canceled out by his goofy grin and smiling eyes. “If ever I should receive word that a contract is upon your life, I will find you and make sweet, sweet love to you before I take any action.”

 

“Ah. _Mi querido_. Have it no other way.” She replied doing her best to mimic a simpering sigh.

 

“You know..” He murmured, lifting an eyebrow. “We could simply skip all that circumstance, and…” he left that sentence hanging with possibilities.

 

Amy blinked at him, pretending to be conflicted and confused. “But…how I know you won’t kill me after?” she asked. And then there was a devilish smirk blossoming accross her face. Now, if he so much as flirted with her, she’d have grounds to ask if he was here to ‘finish a contract’.

 

“Uhhh.” He exhaled, his head rocking back, slack in realization. Then he slouched, practically slapping his cheek into his palm as he lamented, “I see now the trap you have laid for me…”

 

She let out the most gleeful, little cackle. Then she asked. “How you been, anyway?”

 

“Hm?” He asked. “Don’t you _know_?” Mischevious as always.

 

“Such sassy.” She snarked. “Last saw you…” She thought about it. “Kirkwall. Crows chasing you. Hawke caught up to you.”

 

“Indeed he did.” He said. “He didn’t much care for the truth of why the Crows were there, and ended up killing them and letting me go.”

 

“And since?”

 

“Oh… you know.. This and that.” He half smiled. “I…” he wavered, and she could visibly see the struggle of him _wanting_ to tell her. “I, uh… well, you may not know, but… I am eager to return after this.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“Indeed.” He seemed so squirming. Now she could see that he was positively busting with…something that looked an awful lot like beaming pride. “I am eager to return to my home, as my daughter is now teething, and—”

 

“What!” Amy practically shrieked, covering her mouth with both hands before very nearly swooning. “You babies?!” Zevran was laughing now. “What, how? When?”

 

He half shrugged. “Uh…well..” He shook his head, as if even he still didn’t believe it. “I fell in with a dalish couple, after the Blight. We all…I suppose we just hit it off. We were fast friends without much preamble, and they wanted to see the world. They helped me evade the Crows, and we traveled together. Eventually…”

 

“Babies??” Amy cheered, so excited she was practically vibrating. Probably because she was shifting back and forth from foot to foot very fast, almost in a happy dance. “ _Me gusta_!”

 

He chuckled, her enthusiasm making this much easier for him. “Quite. Only yesterday, I received a bird that lovely Adhlea is with child again.” He half snorted a chortle. “Isenam could not wait for me to return to tell me.” He eyed Amy. “This…none of this bothers you?”

 

She blinked at him. “ _Qué_?”

 

Another snorting chuckle. “Well.. Even Leliana isn’t entirely supportive of… I think she’s afraid I’m involving myself in a couple’s love affair. She doesn’t understand…” It was getting hard for even Zevran to explain, it seemed.

 

He cleared his throat. “In the beginning, we were all friends, and that was fine. But then… I started to care very deeply for them. Isenam and Adhlea wanted to have children, but he could not…” he shook his head.

 

Amy understood and nodded. Men could be so sensitive about being physically incapable of fathering children, after all.

 

“So,” Zevran continued with a sigh, “they opened their relationship to me, and…now it’s less of a pleasure I engage in with my friends, and more of… _our_ relationship…” He made a face. “And I never imagined I would be saying such a thing.”

 

“Nah!” Amy said, one hand on her hip, the other waving at thin air. “All for re-lashun-ships, long as they healthy. So yeah. M’down with paul-ig-ahmy. Do the thing, long as you do it well.”

 

He chuckled softly before shaking his head. Then his eyes narrowed. “You are remarkably easy to talk to.”

 

She smirked. “No judge.” Something in her softened as she said. “And, love you all.”

 

“Hm. Perhaps that’s why.” He seemed to decide something before standing up. “Come. Let us go and find some food, and I will tell you all about my travels and perhaps seduce you with my skills.”

 

“Skills?” Amy asked pretending to consider that. Zevran nodded. “Pick locks?” She asked eagerly. He stared at her, at first in surprise and then as though she were the greatest of traitors.

 

“The more you talk, the more I am assured that Leliana is correct.” Zevran grumbled. “…which means, I probably owe her money.”

 

Amy found it easy to relax at this point, and it had nothing to do with the two (healthy) servings of whiskey she’d had without food.

 

It only now occurred to her that she had faced and persuaded her greatest threat… Leliana believed. And that was worth all the tension and embarrassing confusion.

 

It was like an enormous weight was off her shoulders, and she hadn’t even realized she was carrying it in the first place… like when you go and get your hair cut, after a long time of having it long, and it just feels so light and fresh.

 

…Also, Zevran was in what he, himself categorized as ‘a relationship’ (which seemed healthy and loving) and had at some point made babies. And that made the world infinitely brighter.

 

…Of course, she was heavily bias about that. But it hardly seemed to matter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whooo....man...That's... a lot to process.
> 
> So, I'm just gonna follow up here by saying that the video is done :3 It's been posted for a few days now, akshully.
> 
> If you haven't seen it, it's on my strivingscribe Tumblr, but it's also on YouTube here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9IFfvGn4PtQ ...Also, there's a follow-up video with my outtakes from making the video -..- Yeah. That's totally optional.


	21. Now or Never

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn, you guys :D I got a TON of reviews. We all know why, too. Everyone loved seeing Zevran. I know a while back on Tumblr there was a 'Zevran does Skyhold' thing. I'd been world building for Charmer-verse, and always think about my trash crow baby too, and I'm glad you guys came along with me on that :)
> 
> It's too late for me, just save yourselves! Go! Read!

The wind was something that Amy could sometimes negotiate with…other days, it was always going to be a problem, and it was just better to keep Bax as close as possible.

 

The man simply projected heat. And it was obviously a conscious effort of some sort, as he did it at varying degrees.

 

There were some days, however, when the wind would change... The morning had seen wretched winds…but whatever the weather’s problem was, it sorted itself out long before noon.

 

This morning she had kept herself very busy. She’d spoken with Mother Giselle and Flissa. Technically, Flissa and Adan had been working together so closely on this project that Amy didn’t even need to consult Adan. Flissa would keep him appraised. It kept people out of his way, and he got to be more of an alchemist and less of a healer… Everyone won.

 

Mother Giselle reported that, including the 28 mages, the total number of their supporters was now at 48 volunteers (this number included Mother Giselle, Flissa, Adan, and Amy).

 

“Fan Tas Tic.” Amy had said. Initially, she had reasoned that they could make do with whatever numbers they had. Since the initial estimate had only the 28 mages in play, she’d thought groups of two could bring refreshments to the 12 groups of soldiers… But that seemed very unfair.

 

Two people were going to bring 22 cups and two pitchers to a hardy group of soldiers? Putting herself in the place of the mages, she thought that may seem intimidating. At least, that’s the feeling she gleaned from Bax, Macie, Elossa, and Siheta. But if four people did it… that’d be a little better. More balanced and less likely for the volunteers to feel overworked.

 

Flissa had also reported that she and Adan were fairly certain they had a winning mixture. They’d need a few people to help them taste test it… Amy was certain Mother Giselle’s volunteers wouldn’t mind helping with that.

 

She’d also spent some time asking Cullen if there was an emergency procedure in place for soldiers and civilians. He had gotten that far-off pensive look that quickly turned critical. As if he did have a plan, but he was suddenly re-evaluating it and finding flaws.

 

She’d told him only to keep it in mind, and maybe they could discuss that at a war table meeting.. Or in the tavern. Or something.

 

If she was being perfectly honest, she hadn’t ended the walk-about early because everything had been addressed and was running smoothly.

 

She’d ended it early because today was the day that Sam’s crew came back, and she was anxious to see them. It may be childish, but she’d put herself right in the middle of neutral territory and was eagerly waiting for any sign of them… Like a child on Christmas eve. Also, everything was running smoothly enough.

 

With the exception of Siheta and Magpie, everyone else had gone off to their respective corners—Wystan with the soldiers and Macie, Bax, and Elossa with the mages.

 

“So, I saw you talking with that dangerously attractive Antivan yesterday.” Magpie said, as if she were tattling on Amy.

 

Amy smirked. “Josephine not…that bad.”

 

Magpie chuckled. “Oh, har-de-har.” She droned. “I meant the elf with the wonderful tattoos.”

 

“Hm.” Amy said noncommittally. Magpie simply grinned at her, waiting for more. Amy huffed. “Leliana’s friend.”

 

“Like I said. Dangerous.” Magpie’s eyes were wide with surprise and just a touch of fear.

 

“Don’t like?”

 

“Leliana? Of course, I do.” She said as though she were reading the back of packing instructions. “She’s amazing at what she does. Extremely efficient. Is she listening to us right now? Probably. I really love the lady Nightingale. She. Can. Do. No…..Wrong.” Magpie’s tone did not change, but her expression raced from cheerful, to nervous, and then to worried.

 

Amy chuckled softly. “She’s good.”

 

“Oh sure. Easy for you to say. You’re safe because you were touched by Andraste.” Magpie grumbled before her face slid into suspicion. “You were, right? Touched by Andraste or whatever?”

 

“Want me to show on doll?”

 

“Good one.” Magpie relented. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed that you’ve completely distracted me from talking about the handsome Antivan.”

 

It still warmed Amy when she remembered her brief time with Zevran. And it was in a decidedly ‘oh my sweet baby crow’ way…not a ‘my kingdom for a phallus’ sort of way.

 

They’d managed to talk a bit more. She had gotten the chance to fuss over him while he went on and on about his daughter. Amy desperately wanted to see this baby, but she wasn’t about to even suggest it. She knew that the Inquisitions path would be very dangerous, and the last thing she wanted to do was bring Zevran’s family into the line of fire. She had given him tidbits of knowledge about which parts of the world would be the least safe and was grateful to learn that his home was in none of those areas.

 

She’d also managed to glean a few stories about his partners…and for the first time in a long time, she found herself envious of their relationship. Not just because Zevran seemed very loved up, but also because of how much the three seemed to talk to each other. The joke about communication being the most important part of a relationship wasn’t actually that much of a joke. It just seemed so healthy. Not perfect, but…they were making it work.

 

“You’ve gone all doe-eyed and wistful.” Magpie said, sounding just a touch concerned. “He didn’t up and break your heart, did he?” there was a dangerous edge in her voice. A ‘hunt him down and make him pay’ edge, that Amy needed to deflect.

 

She laughed, one arm tight around her belly while the other covered her mouth. “Silly!” she said, glad to see that tension leave Magpie.

 

A grin tugged at the edge of her mouth. “Good.” She said, letting that hang in the air between the before rushing out with, “Because I’d find him and fuck his shit up.”

 

Amy could only laugh. “Peach.” She giggled, swatting at Magpie’s shoulder.

 

The women jumped when a lookout atop one of the larger boulders cried out, “HO! Party coming through the pass!”

 

They’d been so busy clucking and giggling at each other that they hadn’t been paying attention tot he road. It was a long ways off, but there were definitely a group of people now visible at the farthest end of the road.

 

Amy could barely make out Sam, Cassandra, Solas, and Sera, and she assumed the large group that was behind them were Inquisition scouts and soldiers. She couldn’t really tell because the distance made their armor nondescript.

 

“Walking.” Amy grunted in disgust. “Take forever.”

 

Magpie grinned. “You’re certainly anxious to have them back.” Amy only nodded.

 

“Now or never.” This came from Siheta, whose eyes had gone large and round.

 

“…What?” Magpie asked.

 

Amy felt her entire body tense up as her eyes met Siheta’s. “Get to her before he gets back.” Siheta breathed, dread tinting her words. “It’s now or never.”

 

Amy felt herself breathing, deep and even. Felt her muscles tense, her stance lock as she carefully turned to survey the field. She slowly stepped to the edge of the road that separated the mages and neutral space from the field…

 

Of the many ways that she could defend herself, she knew she was probably most vulnerable to a ranged attack. She wanted to be close to the line of soldiers… to mix in with them a bit, yes, but also to better react to whatever was coming.

 

She began a slow pace as she glared at the field, drawing a touch of inspiration from Darth Maul (arguably one of the best things to come out of the Phantom Menace).

 

If they were coming for her right now…she wanted them to feel her seethe.

 

And then, in a moment when she was still, and the cold was very nearly the only thing she felt, four men in the closest group crouched all as one and leapt from the line towards her.

 

Spatial awareness was a thing that Amy was very keen on. She knew how much space she would have to draw away, and she knew that it exceeded the space in which they had to make their move.

 

She immediately began flipping backward, getting a few good turns before planting her feet in a solid stance and screaming as shrilly as she could, bearing her teeth and letting her muscles strain and her eyes bulge. It was a presentation of course. An answer to a threat, equally threatening.

 

It did its job as well; the men halted for a half second, clearly reevaluating their decisions. This allowed Amy a chance to evaluate them.

 

That noise, the one that sounded like a sledgehammer on metal, erupted. Siheta let loose a stone fist that sailed into one of the bigger men, heavily armored. Not that it did him much good. The enormous bolder collided with his chest and sent him flailing back. The bigger they are…

 

“That one’s mine.” Siheta called out, eyeing the fallen figure as she began to round the group of men.

 

“What the—”

 

Magpie’s words died as Amy dashed forward, leaping up and wrapping her legs around one of the other men. She sat astride his shoulder, her legs coiled down his chest tightly. He was also heavily armed…but he lacked a helmet.

 

She reeled back, arching her back backward (which threw him slightly off balance, he was having to compensate as it was to stay upright) before she tensed the muscles of her belly and reeled herself in, jabbing her elbow down against the crown of his skull. She straightened her legs, so that when he crumbled, her feet were planted on the ground. In fact, if the man were not firmly gripped by her thighs, he would have folded like a cheap suit.

 

That left the final two. Both of them wore leather armor with chain mail beneath.

 

One of them was very hesitant…as Amy examined him, she could see ‘I really don’t want to do this’ all over his face. She wondered if it was because they’d dropped half of them, or if perhaps he had other reasons for his reservations.

 

Magpie suddenly materialized, in a move that Amy had seen so many times in the game, it was nearly surreal. It had to be the Shadow Strike. One second she wasn’t there, and then she was leaping up right next to him, using her own momentum to knock him off his feet.

 

Amy blinked at that before looking back to the last man. “Dance?” she practically whispered.

 

The other man lunged forward. Amy had taken note of the daggers in his hands and made sure to dodge away from him neatly. It was almost like a dance, and though he may be the one attacking, he was not the one leading.

 

There is a moment when you can see the attack coming, and the opponent actually leaves themselves open. Normally, seeing the attack would give a fighter the chance to defend….but Amy came from another school of thought.

 

This was to attack before your opponent attacks, while he is gearing up to attack you. He had been raging at her a while, and that took time and precious energy. She struck out once, when he was reeling back to strike her, landing a kick on his main shoulder.

 

Though it was with the heel of her foot, it wasn’t a full strike. But it would still agitate the muscle… and one more hit would dislocate that shoulder. There was a marked difference in his range of motion, and it was obviously hurting him to lift that arm now.

 

Then out of nowhere, Cullen shield bashed him. He went flying across the road like a stone skipping across a smooth lake before embedding himself in some fluffy powder.

 

“Gah’dammn.” Amy murmured, partially in appreciation and partially in sympathy for that poor bastard.

 

Amy took short stock of the situation. The man she’d first attacked was out. Just… out. Still. So was the man Siheta was looming over. Magpie had planted herself on her quarry’s chest and held a dagger to his throat. He held both of his hands up in surrender, high above his head. And the man that Cullen had dispatched was not moving.

 

“Is anyone hurt?” Cullen asked, still crouched, his shield and sword ready.

 

“Except them?” Magpie growled, not getting up from the man she’d sequestered.

 

“We appear to be unharmed.” Siheta murmured. “Shouldn’t speak so soon, I suppose, but …their attack appears to have petered out.”

 

Amy couldn’t relax yet, and it had very little to do with adrenaline. It was in the lack of cold, and the prickling sensation as the hairs on her body stood up.

 

She looked up to see the horses had drawn closer. They were very nearly home now, trotting instead of walking. Perhaps they had sensed something was happening as well.

 

Amy thought of their attack and wondered at what Siheta had said. ‘Now or Never’? Why was it important to have her dispatched before Sam returned? Did they think they could possibly survive such an attack? Would they have attacked Sam immediately afterward? What was the thinking?

 

“Biz are.” Amy grunted. She half turned, facing the coming party.

 

And her breath squeaked out of her half a second later as something pierced her side…or her back or…the pain was radiating out of her left side and down her back.

 

“Crossbow!” Cullen roared, but Amy was focusing on standing at the moment.

 

Standing and breathing, because she wasn’t sure if she could manage anything else.

 

With her left hand, she reached along her side, gritting her teeth so she wouldn’t whimper as she traced the area of intrusion.

 

That sledgehammer that signaled a stone fist echoed in her ears.

 

“Get him! I want him brought here! Do not let him get away!”

 

Amy was only vaguely aware of Cullen’s barked orders as she felt the protrusion of an arrow…it had hit her at an odd angle, because she’d been turning.

 

If she hadn’t been… she would shudder to think of where it would’ve struck, but that sort of movement would’ve probably hurt.

 

As it was, it wasn’t entirely embedded in her skin. She could feel the edge of the arrowhead just beside her under-layer and the thick seam of her breastband.

 

“Amy?” That was Magpie’s voice. She sounded so soft and sweet in comparison to what Amy was used to. “Hey, you’re ok. We’ll just, uh…we’ll get you somewhere to—Holy fuck!”

 

Amy had gripped the shaft of the arrow just near the arrowhead with her right hand(the most limited) and with her left hand(which had the most range), broke off the long length of the shaft.

 

She took made a deep, grunting noise, clenching her teeth and panting unevenly. She would hold her deep breaths and they would sob out of her clenched teeth.

 

“Daahh!” Magpie half wailed in panic. “Why the fuck would you DO that!!” The frazzled elf wrung her hands, one reaching towards Amy’s shoulder, glancing there before drawing back. It was like she wanted to help, to comfort Amy somehow, but was afraid that touching her would only cause more pain.

 

“S’fine.” Amy grunted, still unable to do more than stand there.

 

“It is not fine!”

 

Amy let her right arm relax. She couldn’t look at her hand now because it was shaking…and covered in blood. The adrenaline was definitely ebbing, replaced with a different type of panic that she needed to quell.

 

“Amy, you should sing.” Siheta was saying.

 

“What!” Magpie chirped, shrill and shocked.

 

“Sing and think about the bleeding stopping. Try to focus on that.”

 

Amy closed her eyes. She took a deep, settling breath, reminding herself of the body’s functions. Of the necessity of blood to clot, and the process of applying pressure, and how to stop a wound from being critical.

 

“You’ll remember me…” she began softly. “When the west wind moves… upon the fields of barley.” She began, still shaky but resilient enough. She may never be the strongest, but she would always be resilient enough. “You’ll forget the sun… in his …jealous sky.” She took a deep breath. “ As we walk in fields of gold.”

 

There was a sensation so out of place, almost as though the tension in her neck were relaxing. It seeped downward as she remembered how to breathe.

 

“So, she took her love…. For to gaze awhile…upon the fields of barley.” She was breathing properly now, and her voice sounded stronger, more like her. “In his arms she fell, as her hair came down… among the fields of gold.”

 

“What is going on here? Why haven’t you two moved her yet?” This came from Wystan, who was approaching with his weapon and shield out along with a few other veterans and a couple of their mage friends. Amy could only hear them, their heavy armor rattled fiercely.

 

“And exactly whose throat am I slitting for this?” This came from a single-minded Sam as he and Solas dismounted their horses nearby. Cassandra quickly followed suite.

 

“Amy is resistant to healing, but she might be able to help herself.” Siheta said.

 

“Oh?” Solas was now shifting his gaze between Siheta and Amy with equal fascination.

 

“Will you stay with me, will you be my love, among the fields of barley?” Amy sang out, the pain ebbing away leaving only the sensation of tightness. It was obvious she would have a limited range of motion. “We’ll forget the sun in his jealous sky as we lie in fields of gold.”

 

Amy gripped the shaft near the arrowhead tightly in her left hand and then yanked, hard. It took a few seconds to pant, and clench her hands, but for the most part (other than the sharp pain radiating through her once again), she was…. Alright.

 

Elossa was nearby, Amy knew that much. She had to be, because Amy could hear Elossa humming the tune.

 

Elossa’s voice was so strong. Amy always likened it to Christina Agulera’s or maybe Shakira’s. It was impossible to mistake even when she was singing in a group. Whereas Siheta’s voice was so breathy soft and sweet, it always reminded Amy of a mother’s lullaby. In fact, when Siheta would sing with her, Amy found herself trying to lower her own volume so that she could hear Siheta more.

 

“I never made promises lightly, and there have been some that I’ve broken…but I swear, in the days still left… We’ll walk in fields of gold. We’ll walk in fields… of gold.” She could finally roll her shoulders back. They had been hunched for the duration of this.

 

“The bleeding’s stopped…” Bax was saying this, his voice clinical yet still a touch of amazement tinted his words.

 

“Many years have passed…since those summer days… among the fields of barley,an” Amy let her face tilt up, almost imagining herself soaking up sunlight like a flower. “See our children run as the sun goes down…among the fields of gold. Among the fields of gold…” She took a steadying breathing. “When we walked…in fields of gold.”

 

“It seems you were correct…” Solas was saying as he rounded Amy’s back. The fact that he was not only so close, but also very mobile as he circled her, made Amy’s eyes pop open. “While she is not entirely healed, the wound is not fatal, and does not bleed.”

 

“Smarts like a mother.” Amy half grunted half whimpered.

 

While singing, she had felt a strange sense of focus… something that made her feel complete and whole again. Now that she was no longer singing, she felt like she’d just woken up, and had been in a pub fight the night before. All tight and sore, but at least she’d survived the night.

 

“Well…if you can joke about it.” Wystan said, his shoulders slumping. It was then that Amy realized he had been very concerned, and that concern was melting with the relief that she was alright.

 

About five men dragged another to be bound with the group that had attacked them. That was… probably three more than necessary as he was pretty beaten up, but they all looked very pissed, and Amy knew that it was better for them to have at least some direction for that emotion.

 

“Does someone want to tell me what’s going on here??” Sam was still livid, gripping his daggers and obviously out for blood.

 

“Subversion.” Siheta said. “These men were planning on assassinating Amy and you, eventually.”

 

“Oh really.” Sam practically growled.

 

“Cullen?” Cassandra asked.

 

“I had been made aware of a plot against Amy, but they had yet to make a move.” Cullen said, his anger simmering. “Amy has always had permission to defend herself as she sees fit… The only way we could hope to catch them is if they revealed themselves.”

 

“Worked.” Amy noted, her chin jutting towards the group of five men.

 

Cullen let out a pent up breath. “One way or another.”

 

He always choose to bottle those feelings, and now he was closing ranks so that the only emotion you could read was channeled anger. He was probably blaming himself somehow, because Cullen did self-flagellation so well.

 

Amy turned to the men. “Whom do you serve?” She asked, steady as she could. The one that Magpie had bagged was an obvious stand-out from the others. He looked… repentant. The others were grimly tight-lipped. “Elder One?”

 

She searched their faces as they all met her eyes. All of them. They all looked up at her, and she read complete ignorance in all of them.

 

“What?” the guilty one said, shifting when his mates glared at him.

 

“Elder One. One who killed the divine and made breach.” Now there was shock where ignorance had been. “You serve him?” she remained firm, because innocence could be faked.

 

“What? No! No we—”

 

“Shut up, she’s just trying to get you to talk.”

 

“No! I don’t serve the monster that did this! Do you?” Guilty party said, glaring at his teammates while gesturing towards the breech.

 

“We serve the chantry.” The man who’d spoken growled back at him.

 

And Amy felt herself relaxing, breath easing out of her now. “Good.” She murmured. “That’s…good.” She said with a nod.

 

“Right. Not that it’ll matter.” Sam said, and Amy tried to ease herself into his field of vision.

 

“Sam….” She said softly.

 

“They tried to kill you.” He murmured, unyielding. “Whoever it was that sent them, it doesn’t change the fact that they attacked you. That has to be dealt with.”

 

“I know.. But..” Amy tried to figure out a way to put into words what she was thinking. Everything was so jumbled. “These men… they are men. Like ours. They are sons, brothers, uncles, fathers.” She clenched her teeth. She needed to get the words out. “They have every right…to their fears, and to answer them. To pro-tekt..them selves. They are….eee sin shully…who we are fighting..for.”

 

“Amy.” Sam growled, his head tipped down. He didn’t want to glare at her, but he was honestly a little angry that she wouldn’t just let this happen the way it could so easily happen.

 

“I’m with Sam on this one, if anyone’s asking.” This came from Bull, and Magpie was nodding as well. “Why you always gotta defend the ones who attack you, anyway?”

 

“I am not.. Not saying, ‘don’t judge them’… I’m saying… Don’t judge in anger.”

 

“I’ve always found anger to be a wellspring of fuel, myself.” Sam was still glaring daggers at the huddle of bound men.

 

“Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to suffering.” Amy recited. “Thedas…suffers…enough. And they are part of Thedas.”

 

“That’s enough.” Solas said. “Amy, what will happen will happen, and you will have to make peace with that.” He said, approaching her uninjured side and attempting to take her arm. “Right now, we need to make certain that you are well. Considering your past behavior, I believe you would not want to experience an adrenaline crash here on the field in front of everyone.”

 

By ‘everyone’, Amy assumed he meant all of the men and women on the field…. Right.

 

Amy took a shuddering breath, closed her eyes, and nodded. Solas was…right. She needed to let the process happen and try to not get in the way…at least, as much as that was possible.

 

It was more comforting when she realized she wasn’t the only one leaving with Solas. Because if it had just been her and Solas…that would’ve probably made her uneasy.

 

“Where are we going, anyway?” This came from Magpie.

 

“The tavern.” Solas said. “If we went to the chantry, everyone would trip over themselves. I doubt Amy would want the fuss.”

 

Amy nodded.

 

“…Well, at least there’ll be alcohol.” Magpie half grumbled.

 

“Small wonders.” Solas murmured.

 

“I have her.” This came from Cassandra of all people. She seemed relatively insistent on lacing Amy’s right arm around her waist, to help support her.

 

This was good, as Cassandra’s presence had Amy feeling as though she could be knocked over by a feather. It also freed up Solas so that he could open the door to the Tavern and see about clearing off a table for her to sit on.

 

If anyone were to ask Amy about her relationship with Cassandra, she would respond with ‘What relationship?’. It was enough to know that their first conversation, in which Amy had epic-failed to convey the danger the Seekers were in, had left Amy feeling like an errant child.

 

Amy knew, of course she knew, that Cassandra hadn’t meant anything malicious by it. But her words had been received so poorly, and Cassandra had made her feel so…so… so stupid…. Amy had always hurried away from Cassandra after that. She just…she didn’t want to be in the way. Not till she was capable of better communication.

 

…Which…she still wasn’t good at. Knowing that made her very self-conscious around Cassandra.

 

Amy managed to hoist herself onto one of the tables. Solas was looking around, searching for something.

 

“I shall return momentarily.” He murmured before leaving.

 

Magpie pointed at herself. “Should…Should I be doing something?” She asked a little nervous.

 

“Let everyone know.”

 

“Got it! I can be a runner!” she clapped loudly before darting out of the opposite door.

 

A second passes before Cassandra asks the question that has been rotating in her mind as she stared at the exit Magpie took. “Exactly what do you expect her to tell…and to whom?”

 

Amy shrugged and then winced. “Important thing… she needs busy.”

 

Cassandra huffed a laugh. Better than a disgusted noise, at least. “You are…very intuitive.” She announces. “I wanted to thank you.”

 

“Whatever for?” the phrase sounds so like her mother, that Amy nearly wilts at the subtle reminder. She can blame it on being shot, right?

 

Cassandra smiles, and Amy is reminded of how nice Cassandra could be. “Samuel has conveyed to me…what you have said concerning the Seekers. Also, that you told him to defy Leliana in telling me.”

 

“Dammit, Sammy.” Amy grumbled, rolling her eyes. “Coulda taken credit.”

 

Cassandra is still smiling, but it’s tempered with wry humor. “Indeed. For all his claims of being a scoundrel, he’s remarkably straightforward.” A part of her expression turned wistful… it was around the eyes. “He cannot abide willful wrongdoing.”

 

“Noble Rogue.” Amy grunts in affectionate disgust.

 

Amy was staring at the Seeker. Still in full armor, though without her weapons. Not that she needed them. The evaluation continued to her countenance. Gauging what could be told and what couldn’t. Wondering if… if it were possible…

 

“Cass.” She murmurs, gaining Cassandra’s attention. “Must listen. Listen to all I say, or hear none.”

 

Cassandra swallows. “If this concerns the Seekers—”

 

“No. But still. Must listen.” Cassandra’s expression became grim, and she gave a single nod. “Varric.”

 

“What has the dwarf said now?”

 

“Not what’s said. What isn’t.” Cassandra’s eyes narrowed at this. “Varric knows. Know how to reach Hawke.” The Seeker’s eyes widened in fury, and Amy reached out, a vice-like hold snatching the Cassandra’s wrist. Firm, without pain, and yet unyielding. “Listen.”

 

Cassandra puffed a few livid breaths into her lungs before nodding.

 

“Would not matter.” This gets her another glare, but she leans closer to Cassandra instead of away. “First, the feeling. Think of all Hawke went through. Every trial. Every struggle.” Amy clenches her back teeth, but is gratified to see some of Cassandra’s ire fade slightly. “Now. Put… Anthony…in Hawke’s place.”

 

Cassandra’s eyes rounded in sorrow. She blinked rapidly as they watered and looked away.

 

“After that… all that… Would you put… Sam’s buhhr-den… on him?”

 

Cassandra met Amy’s gaze, her own eyes tinted slightly pink. She tilted her head down, nodding her understanding.

 

“Now. Logic.” Amy said softly, her own voice cracking from strain and the emotion of the topic. “Think. By mir-acles. Varric writes Hawke. Wait for rehh…re sponse. Ahhs…Ass oome. One comes.” She panted lightly, licking her chapped lips and biting her cheek. “How long?” she shrugs. “Weeks?”

 

Cassandra nods. “Possibly.”

 

“Given some var…varey… ables. Hawke may not…join. May. But…even if he …does. Greater time. Time away, not here.” Amy shrugs. “You would have… arrived…no sooner. Later, per…haps. Conclave would still…” Amy stops because Cassandra is nodding.

 

“Then I … I am to accept that the Maker wanted this to happen? That He…” She swallows.

 

“Faith.” Amy replied with a weary nod.

 

Cassandra meets her gaze again and she has to remember.

 

She knows the words, and she absolutely must remember them The right ones. Because the Seeker is and always will be seeking something… And Amy has to use the right words to remind her that she’s had what she needed for her faith all along.

 

You never needed the feather to fly, Dumbo.

 

Amy practically hums the words as she remembers them. “For there is no darkness in the Maker’s Light, and Nothing…”

 

“…And nothing that He has wrought shall be lost.” Cassandra murmurs, her tone lightening as she completes the stanza.

 

“You are not alone.” Amy recites with a smile.

 

“Even as I stumble on the path with my eyes closed… yet I see the Light is here.” Cassandra’s smile was only slightly dampened by her sadness now.

 

Somehow….Though she still wasn’t that good at communicating… Somehow. Amy’s message, the truth she’d managed to deliver, had managed to garner a small amount of hope.

 

Of all the things a Seeker could find, hope was definitely on the list of necessities.

 

In spite of all the darkness, or perhaps because of it, the world was still bright.

 

And then Solas returned, in what could be viewed as.. A tizzy.

 

“I apologize. Adan and Flissa were quite distraught when they learned the news. They wanted me to explain. Luckily, your friends arrived to take my place…” He looked between them. “Am I interrupting something.”

 

“No.” Cassandra said softly and not without kindness.

 

“Sorted.” Amy announces with a nod. “Now… ‘bout this.” She said pointing to her back.

 

And finally, there was busy work to focus on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *deep sigh* I did say... that things were going to start happening rapidly. 
> 
> Though the next chapter is probably going to be a bit of a break. Just because... damn. After all this shit, they're going to need a break.
> 
> Yeah...I'm just gonna be over here in my cubby hole, guys...*scurries away*


	22. This Den of Iniquity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *floats in* Hiii.. 
> 
> So...it's been quite a while. I'm sorry I left the story hanging at such a huge moment, but...well... college started up again (as I'm sure most of you know), and man... something's gotta give, right? And my health isn't great, as always. I did manage to visit a doctor, and after a couple of very uncomfortable tests, I at least have 1 decent treatment option. Go, science and medicine. I choose you!
> 
> Also, it's come to my attention that self-promotion isn't something that I do very well. Probably because I'm convinced I'm worthless anyway, and I don't want to see like I'm flinging myself at you guys. But, I have a tumblr specifically for my writing. It has my fics, some 'send me couple prompts' memes, and a couple of pictures of characters (namely Magpie and Siheta). Hey. If you like what I'm about and you want to help me assemble ikea furniture using only my mind, you could hit that up :3 That’d be cool of you.
> 
> In other 'self-promotion' news, for those of you who ship Bull and Amy, there's a steamy one-shot AU fic that I've posted. It's pretty hot (so you've been warned), but if you like the AmiaBull ship, then you could check that out.
> 
> Also... dunno if you guys are into this little site called 8 tracks, but I have an account there, and I have 2 play lists :) One is 'Amy McManus's Fantastic Fighting Tunes' and the other is 'Amy McManus's Fantabulous Fun Tunes' :3 There are links on the tumblr that I mentioned earlier.

Amy sat atop what was usually Sam and Varric’s table…though Cullen had been doing time there upon occasion.

 

Her legs dangled off the edge, and not for the first time, she wished she could take her boots off so she could draw her legs up into lotus position. The boots made her legs feel strained and heavy, like they were made of concrete.

 

She let her back relax, leaning her weight onto her elbows, which were firmly planted near her knees. It felt good to slouch.

 

“Give me a moment to prepare a poultice.” Solas said, rummaging through his satchel.

 

Amy nodded. “Thanks.” She murmured, reaching down for the laces of her boots.

 

The door behind her opened, flooding the tavern with light reflected by the bright snow.

 

“Charmer?” Amy looked over to find a very concerned Bull and Krem.

 

“Hm?”

 

“How ya doin, there?”

 

“Oh. Fine.” Half grunted, still struggling with the laces of her left boot. It felt particularly heavy.

 

“Don’t dance in doorways, Tiny.” Varric grumbled, and Amy realized it wasn’t just Bull and Krem.

 

Bull stood beside that doorway and Krem ‘reported’ to the other… were they guarding the entry into the tavern (of all places)? Either way, Bull stepped aside allowing for Varric and Vivienne (of all people!) to file in.

 

“You look pretty good for a body that took a bolt to the back.” Varric said, approaching her side and grimacing…probably at the blood.

 

“Amy.” Cassandra began. “This is…well, I suppose you know who this is.” Cassandra said gesturing toward Vivienne, who stepped forward.

 

“First N’chanter Vivienne.” Amy murmured, inclining in as much of a bow as she could manage. “Of Montsimmard and the Imperial Court.”

 

She was very happy to note that instead of botching the words entirely, she was able to parrot them in the proper French (or Orlesian, as it were) accent.

 

“Ever so pleased to make your acquaintance, my dear.” Vivienne breezed graciously. “I’m terribly sorry, darling…” she began, wincing in sympathy. “I wouldn’t want to begin on the wrong foot, but…what _are_ you wearing?”

 

Amy wilted slightly. “I try not t’think ‘bout it.” She bemoaned.

 

“Aw, com’on now.” Bull argued. “Girl gets shot, there’s bound to be blood.”

 

“She…didn’t mean _that_.” Amy grumbled holding up her arms and motioning to her clothes. “Tunic could fit, Cullen, Sam, Black Wall, _and_ Bull. Not…all at once…but…”

 

“Very nearly.” Vivienne said, her eyebrows aloft. She seemed equal parts amused and also revolted.

 

“You’ve never complained about your clothes, Charmer.” Krem reminds.

 

“Grateful to _have_ some.” Amy said, reaching for the shoelaces of her other boot. “But…not my taste.”

 

Finally, both sets of laces were untied. Amy fidgeted to toe them off.

 

“Hey, wait. What are those?” Varric asked pointing to her newly exposed feet. Amy looked down curiously, along with everyone else.

 

“Oh.” Amy smirked, folding her left leg up to remove the item that no one had seen till now. “Up. Grades.” She removed the other one as well.

 

“Up grades?” Varric parroted.

 

Amy smiled and held them out to him. They were essentially large fabric pouches  that she tied above each ankle.

 

“Gift. Harritt.”

 

Varric held his hand out, and when Amy let them drop, he nearly fumbled and dropped them. He stared at them.

 

“They’re heavy.” He said examining them.

 

“Weights.”

 

“They must be..”

 

“10 pounds. Each.”

 

“What are they for?” Bull asked, with so much suspicion that Amy imagined he already knew.

 

“Resistance. Builds. Strength.” Amy announced.

 

“Did you.. Wait…why?” this came from Krem.

 

“Build strength.” Amy said as though it were obvious. She’d actually said the thing, hadn’t she?

 

“Do you always wear these?” Cassandra asked.

 

Amy nodded. “Asked Harritt early on.” She explained. “Gathered up shavings from scrap. Soft an’ f-fine.”

 

“So Harritt made these so you could gradually build up strength?” Krem asked, taking a half-step closer to get a better vantage.

 

Amy pulled at the finger of her gloves till she could pull them off. She held out her hand to show the smaller wrap-weight around her wrist. Usually, she would remove her gloves in the tavern, and the weights would be tucked away inside them.

 

“Five.” She informed before pulling the other glove off. She removed them both, relaxing now that she wasn’t burdened down. It made a world of distance.

 

“You are an odd duck.” Cassandra announced with no small amount of wonder.

 

“For once, we agree.” Varric grumbled before plopping the weights into her discarded boots.

 

“Were you wearing those when you kicked me in the face?” Bull asked, accusation lacing his words.

 

“Nope.” Amy said with a laugh. “Got these after ah..ah…ah band…ban donning that…hideous tent dresz.”

 

“So you don’t like dresses?” Krem asked with a smirk.

 

“I _love_ dressez.” Amy defended. “Not if..they cover Winter Palace.” That got a few chuckles. “But…Know what they say..about beggars.”

 

Solas set a glass of clear alcohol in Amy’s hand. She stared at it for a moment before adding.

 

“We’ll only spend it on booze.” She said before toasting Solas and taking a large sip.

 

“Is _that_ what they say about beggars?” Varric asked with a chuckle.

 

Whatever Solas had given her tasted an awful lot like vodka.

 

“Alcohol usually helps you relax which also assists with your speaking.” Solas explained, without her even asking. “It will help with dressing your wound as well.”

 

“Sam could probably use some of that then.” Krem mumbled. “Thought he was gonna outright murder those boys before Cullen could get ‘em into Lady Nightengale’s dungeon.”

 

Amy made a sympathetic face, her mouth drawn in a flat wince.

 

“You can hardly blame him for being protective of you, darling.” Vivienne half soothed-half chided.

 

Amy only hummed noncommittally.

 

“I can go and check on him if you would like.” Cassandra offered, not sure what to do with herself and eager for occupation.

 

Amy nodded. “He’d listen …to you.”

 

Cassandra seemed puzzled by that statement, but she left, happy to have a mission.

 

“Though…Ah…” Solas paused, gathering himself. “It would be easiest for me to dress your wound if you would remove this tunic of which you are so fond.”

 

“Perhaps—” Vivienne began, but Amy knew she’d lose it if Vivienne started talking down to Solas.

 

“S’fine.” She said, pulling her tunic up from the bottom, over her head and off her arms as quick motions, waiting to hiss out the pain as it reacted to her jerky motions.

 

Now she was in her thick under shirt…the tavern wasn’t as cold as she’d thought it might be. For some weird reason Amy only just noticed that Bull was standing near now…he hadn’t been before, but she hadn’t seen how or when that’d happened. She didn’t think much of it, setting her tunic aside and repeating the process with her undershirt.

 

“Oh dear.” Vivienne murmured, but Amy couldn’t twist to her her face, so she wasn't sure what she as ‘oh dear’-ing about.

 

“Uh…” Krem blinked rapidly before staring at the wood grain of the doorframe.

 

Varric cleared his throat. “I, uh..” He snatched her bloodied clothes.

 

“Oh…” Amy exhaled, noticing their condition almost absently. “Looks bad.” She murmured. She looked back arching her back as though she’d be able to actually _see_. All it earned was a teeth-bearing wince as she slouched again.

 

“Amy, please.” Solas entreated, only a touch irritated.

 

“Sorry. Didn’t think.”

 

“I’m gonna see about..uh..getting these clean or something.” Varric announced, leaving with her bloody clothes.

 

“Jeeze, Amy.” Bull grunted, hovering not very far away nervously. “Did you have too much to drink?”

 

She retrieved the glass and knocked it back, gulping the remained or the contents. “Not enough.” She murmured.

 

She was surprised when Solas took her empty glass and refilled it before returning it to her.

 

“Thanks.” She murmured, eyeing the glass with a touch of suspicious. “You’re th’best healer evar.”

 

“Darling..” Madame Vivienne seemed to adopt a tone Amy might use with an extremely small, naive child. “You’re in a room full of _men_.”

 

Amy took a moment to glance down at herself. Her breeches were slung a little low, the edge of her small clothes apparent without the aid of the sash…which…she had apparently lost at some point. Still, the swell of her ass and thighs were enough to keep them in place…she hoped. Besides, she was sitting.

 

Her sides and some of her belly were dalmatian spotted with dried splotches of sticky, nearly-dried blood. The breast band she’d received covered her torso from her armpits to the end of her sternum. It was also a thick fabric that was not white, cream, or beige…but a strange rorschach of them all. Honestly, she’d worn workout tops that covered less.

 

She looked up at Vivienne. “Barely anything t’get excited ‘bout.”

 

Vivienne actually winced. “A pear-shaped figure is hardly any—” she began.

 

“No. Fuck that.” Krem spat. “We’re _excited_. Alright? I’m excited, the chief’s exited—” Elossa walked through the door Krem was supposed to be watching. “Lossa’s probably excited too.”

 

“I..what?” She stopped in shock, before shaking her head and floating behind the bar.

 

“People find you ‘exciting’ alright?” Krem finalized.

 

Amy had the sense to feel a touch defensive.

 

“Darling, you are quite exposed.” Vivienne reminded.

 

“But…not…sig-niff-cant. Just ‘cuz I’m hurt.”

 

“That doesn’t mean none of us are affected.” Solas said in a tone that was strangely gentle.

 

“See! Even _Solas_ is a little excited.” Krem claimed, receiving only an arched eyebrow from Solas. “On a…low key level..” Krem tried to amend.

 

Amy smirked, eyeing Solas. “Yur low-key excited?”

 

Solas chuckled softly. “Apparently so.”

 

Amy hunched slightly, suddenly feeling mostly guilty but also a touch self-conscious. She felt a blush bloom across her face.

 

“Honestly.” Elossa huffed in obvious disapproval. “ _This_ is what you’ve all been doing?” She shook her head again. “Amy, this might sting a bit, and the water is a bit cold.”

 

This was her only warning. Elossa sat in the chair at Amy’s side, setting a bowl on the table and some rags in her lap.

 

“Cold’s good. Constricts.” Amy said. “Cold’s good for acute pain, and heat for—” her sentence ended on a hiss as Elossa began cleaning the wound as gently as possible.

 

Elossa gave her a sympathetic look but continued. There was a bit more blood than Amy had realized. Her tunic had been soaked and so much had been left behind.

 

…She’d been dodging the shock of it all by disassociating herself from it. She got hurt and sung and somehow made it better.

 

The little bandages Elossa used, once white, were splotched with Amy’s sweat and blood….in that moment, Amy could only feel grateful.

 

Relief flooded her system, making her limbs feel like elastic… of course, that could be the booze. Normally, she’d need more to get drunk, but she was obviously on a shorter blood supply.

 

Varric entered with a grimacing grin on his face, and a bundle of faded cream cloth in his hands. “Oh good.” He murmured. “You’re still nearly naked.”

 

“Hardly naked.” Amy grunted.

 

“Hardly dressed, I think you mean.” Elossa said, still dotting her skin with dry rags—where did she get all these rags?

 

“Well, the nice ladies at the chantry gave me this for you.” He said, handing off the fabric in his hand. Vivienne’s eyes narrowed, a nearly silent huff filtering through her nose.

 

Amy inspected the garment as best she could with her limited range of movement, simply holding it up and letting it unfold to reveal…uh….a dress? It was open in the front where a row of buttons and button holes waited to be interlaced. It was probably two sizes too large, so Amy would have to improvise…hm..

 

“This is an atrocity.” Vivianne grumbled indignantly. Amy let out a grunt of agreement.

 

Amy looked to Elossa. “Dagger?”

 

Elossa blinked, and then slowly pulled a dirk out of her boot.

 

“How long have you had that?” Krem asked. “How long has that been there??”

 

“Always.” Elossa said dismissively.

 

“Sweet.” Bull lowed.

 

Amy folded the ‘garment’ in half long-ways, and then tried to hold it down the length of her body. She pointed to the spot above the knee, “Cut here.” She asked, and Elossa made a tiny slit in the fabric. Amy used that as a guide and cut in an arc downward… maybe she could get the first mullet-dress in Thedas out of this.

 

“What about the left over fabric?” Elossa asked, tucking the dirk back into her boot.

 

“Make’a decent belt.” Amy muttered, gathering up the fabric and the dress against her chest.

 

She was now keenly aware of exactly how exposed she was. Though she wasn’t the sort to get embarrassed…if it was affecting everyone else, it might be more prudent to cover herself as she could. Not that she could actually _wear_ the clothes as Solas was still ‘examining’ her wound.

 

“Darling, you have had to do this too often.” Vivienne grumbled. “This is not to be bourn.” She inhaled deeply. “I can see now I’ll have my work cut out for me. Please, excuse me. There isn’t a moment to spare.” And with that, she marched away with an elegant stride that seemed to make even the door jump out of her way.

 

“Hunh.” Elossa half laughed at that. “Suppose everyone needs a purpose.”

 

The door hadn’t even closed properly when Magpie ducked through it, skidding to a stop. “Okay. I told everyone. Everyone knows.” She said, slowing so that she could stop in front of Amy. “Siheta’s none too pleased. They’re questioning her about what happened now, but she’ll be here soon—and why are you nearly naked!!” Magpie’s hands came up as if to catch Amy in her arms, crouching just slightly. She looked around in confusion. “What is going _on_ in this den of iniquity!”

 

Solas let out a single, reluctant breath of laughter, shaking his head. “This…is going to be much more complicated than I’d assumed.”

 

“It’d probably be easier if we could focus on something for more than a few seconds at a time before being interrupted.” Varric murmured.

 

“Indeed.” Solas said, coasting behind Elossa, who ducked away taking her bowl of diluted blood and rags. Solas leaned in to inspect the wound with a weary sigh. “At the very least, this will not require stitching.”

 

“Maybe she could sing—” Elossa began, her eyes downcast upon the bowl.

 

“No.” Solas said with such finality that Amy actually met his eyes.

 

Or she would have, if he weren’t having a glaring match with Elossa… Magpie had frozen because technically, she was between the two of them.

 

“Uh….Well… What about a story then, Charmer?” Varric suggested, clearly trying to diffuse the tension.

 

“Oh yeah!” Magpie agreed, attempting to be supportive. “That might..might be really relaxing, actually.”

 

Amy half smirked, thinking about it. What even? What story to tell….

 

“Once upon a time, there as a man who died. The man’s work was the writing and telling of stories, but he could not defy death.”

 

“Wow. What a beginning.” Bull grumbled.

 

Amy winced slightly as Solas' fingers prodded along the seams of her wound. It ached so fiercely. “The last story he was working on was about a brave and handsome Prince who vanquishes a crafty Raven. But now, it seems their battle will go on for eternity.”

 

“A prince and a raven, huh?” Varric half chuckled. “By association, I want the raven to win.” Amy smirked at that. The only ‘Prince’ Varric knew was Sebastian (Amy assumed), and the ‘Raven’ could have been Leliana…which…had her thinking about ridiculous cross-overs now that she was actually thinking about it.

 

Amy let her voice dropped in pitch and she attempted to growl. “‘I’m sick of this!’ cried the Raven.” She let her voice take on a more regal tone. “‘I’m sick and tired of this!’ cried the Prince as well.”

 

“But…aren’t they just people in a story?” Magpie asked, clearly confused. Amy eyed Magpie with a wicked grin before continuing.

 

“The Raven escaped from the pages of the story, and the Prince pursued the foul creature. In the end, the Prince took out his own heart and sealed the Raven away by using a forbidden power.” She looked away absently, dazedly staring at the wall. “Just then a murmur came from somewhere…” She paused, surveying the others as they waited for the rest. “‘This is great!’ said the old man who was supposed to have died.”

 

There was a beat of silence before—

 

“Wait… I thought …did the guy _not_ die?” Bull grunted.

 

Amy nodded. “He’s dead.”

 

“But…what??”

 

“This is no longer an ideal situation.” Solas muttered half to himself.

 

“Tell me about it. The guy died.” Magpie said shaking her head.

 

Solas stared at her for a moment. “What?” He asked.

 

“What?” Magpie parroted. “Wait, what were _you_ talking about?”

 

Solas took a deep (cleansing) breath before saying. “Dressing Amy’s wound here.” He said. “She cannot stop herself from performing, and it will continue to drain her.”

 

Bull snickered. “Sorry. ‘Performing’. Ha.”

 

Amy pointed at him and gave a single ‘ha’.

 

Again, another disapproving sigh from Solas. “What this means is that we should probably move her again… Somewhere that is legitimately unknown and will actually remain undisturbed.”

 

“Where you thinking, Chuckles?” Varric asked.

 

“The house beside Adan’s quarters would suffice.” He murmured. Amy assumed he meant the little building that you could find him near in the game. There were still only three small buildings there, so there was a fifty-fifty chance she was right.

 

“Are you comfortable with that?” Magpie asked her, which was a surprise both for Amy and Solas. He gave Magpie an almost affronted look. “Let’s be honest… you’ve been pretty resistant to spending time alone with Solas.”

 

And now it was Solas (along with everyone in the room) looking at Amy with blatant curiosity.

 

Oh shit. That’s right… Magpie had been watching her closely. Very closely, it would seem. Probably even when she wasn’t trying to guard her reactions or expression… Amy wasn’t sure how long that had been going on…because she wasn’t sure exactly when Sam had asked Magpie to watch over her…

 

“Had to…to work it out…” Amy mumbled with a little shake of her head. Solas narrowed his eyes slightly, the first nigglings of worry edging into his expression. “Solas says… says potions done all they can.” Amy explained, hoping that would be believable enough. “..said, this may be… may be as.. As well as I can be, and…” Amy’s shrugged in spite of the soreness. “What if I’m just… just..”

 

“No.” Bull growled firmly. “No, you look at me. You look at me, right in my face.” 

 

Amy did, but she felt very guilty about it. Not just because this was (at least in some way) a lie…but because in some ways…it was true. There was a certain sense of shame in wanting to run away from the feeling of inadaquacy. Not facing something...that just wasn’t her way.  

 

“You are not broken, or damaged, or…or whatever it is you’ve been fretting over so much.” He announced. “You hear me?”

 

Amy swallowed, more than a little warmed by that. She smiled softly and nodded, a little amused when both Bull, Varric, and Krem gave a single nod as well. Evidently that had been ‘handled’, and they all agreed.

 

That issue finished, Amy sighed down at her boots. It had been _such_ a struggle to get them off…

 

“Here, let me get this.” Magpie said, crouching to retrieve one of Amy’s boots. She then carefully funneled Amy’s foot into the boot (sans ankle weight).

 

“You don't have to…” Amy began, a touch self conscious.

 

“Nah, it’s fine.” Magpie soothed, her eyes bright and her smile tight. She looked back down, lacing up the boot. “Even a _dalish_ could do this much.” Was quietly muttered.

 

That… was a little worrying and confusing.

 

Until Amy saw the look Elossa was giving Solas… Amy was certain she had never seen such baleful hate on Elossa before… That look would send a Ferelden bear running. And Solas… he looked scolded, and yet indignant at the same time.

 

…Uh oh.

 

Amy had a sneaking suspicion that someone had engaged in the ‘Dalish’ conversation with Solas… Either Elossa had it with him, and Magpie had overheard, or the other way around or.. Whatever combination of events…

 

 _Something_ had happened, and Solas had voiced his opinions about the Dalish and it had not been pretty. Because no one here knew that handling Solas' bluster with the polite scorn of a Canadian was the only way to get him to hear you.

 

Amy turned very slowly until Solas noticed her, _‘I am deeply disappointed’_ face.

 

He gave her an expression that she interpreted as, _‘Really? How is this my fault?’_.

 

Which she received and exchanged with a look that said, _‘You’re older, and you_ know _better’_.

 

Though, technically, it was in essence the effect of an older sister scolding a younger brother…Solas had the good sense to look chided properly.

 

“Alright.” Magpie murmured. “You should probably try standing on your own.” She said, rising and surveying Amy. “First let’s see about this.” She unhooked her own cloak and put it around Amy, drawing the hood up and making sure the cloak itself covered everything.

 

“You don’t have to trouble—” Amy began.

 

“I do what I _want_.” Magpie preened, somehow managing to sound belligerent and affectionate at the same time. It was so incredibly cute.

 

Amy knew she’d need all the help she could get when she shifted forward, her feet finally touching the ground, finally bearing her weight, and a wave of dizziness swept from her knees through her gut and into her eyes.

 

It wasn’t too debilitating, but it was definitely more than just ‘oh I’ve been sitting too long, and my blood pressure’s squeezing at my ears’.

 

Luckily, both Magpie and Varric steadied her. Amy felt chagrin and resentment settle over her face… this… was going to take forever.

 

“How’s about I carry you?” Bull offered. Amy blinked at that. If anyone else had offered, she’d be terribly embarrassed and say that she was too heavy. But.. Bull could.

 

“That’s an excellent idea.” Solas said, a strange tone in his voice. He almost sounded…resigned. She wondered if they’d been a little hard on him…….

 

No. Probably not.

 

Bull drew closer and knelt down. He carefully wrapped an arm around Amy as he had the last time he’d tried to get away with picking her up. Only, this time, instead of gripping her thighs (and groping her backside), he let his arm rest just above the pits of her knees, letting her lean against his torso and shoulder. It was easy enough and it didn’t aggravate the wound in her side as most of the weight was on her belly.

 

Every motion was measured, from the gentle easing into a standing position, to his careful steps so as not to jostle her, even when he crouched so that they could actually get through the doorway. There was purpose behind every footfall, translating to Bull taking the most tender care.

 

When they reached there destination, he set her upon another table before standing upright. Amy unpinned Magpie’s cloak so that it could fall away naturally, still clutching the new dress she’d been given against her chest. She was glad to note that she hadn’t gotten anything on Magpie’s cloak. It was a nice one…

 

Solas went about his busy-work, and Amy tried not to flinch when Bull’s hand traced over the gash left by the arrow. The pain ignited and little nerves that connected to bigger nerves chain reacted, like little land mines of pain and flame all across and down her back. 

 

“Dammit, Charmer…” He grunted, he sounded so upset. He was still crouched on the floor, the same position he’d been in when he released her. His eyes raking over the damage to her back and the surrounding areas, fixated on her back now that he was up close.

 

“It…will be alright.” Amy said. “Solas will help. I will rest. The sun will set and rise again.”

 

“It had better.” Bull grumbled. Amy placed a single hand on top of his head, comforting and sound, and Bull closed his eye. He wasn’t keen on being on display in front of Solas, so he cleared his throat and stood. “I’d better go make sure your little bird knows where she’s going. She darted off towards the chantry…probably looking to tell your other friend.”

 

Amy nodded. “Thanks, Bull.” Amy watched as the door closed behind him, waiting precious seconds before she mustered her courage. “Need to talk to you.” She whispered, her voice jarring though not in the drowsy way it had been before.

 

Solas' back was to her. He had laid out all of the contents of his pack on a nearby bed, and was now applying generous salve to bandages.

 

“I was wondering which of us would initiate this.” He murmured. “Let’s establish a few things first.” He said still working at his task, his gaze never wavering from the bandages. “You are not a moron, neither are you ‘addled’ as you claim.”

 

“Sera said.” Though Amy didn’t see it, Solas' eyes narrowed. “Sera called me addled. Like it better than crazy.”

 

His eyebrows rose, nodding. “I can understand that.” He said carefully. “I don’t believe what you said, about fearing me for the bad news I would give you concerning your health.”

 

“Greatest danger.” Amy replied, trying to take some comfort from the slouching while she kept her new garment folded against her chest…

 

She was reasonably certain that Solas wouldn’t harm her. For one, it would appear too suspicious. Secondly, he often spoke against acting without fully understanding the consequences of acting.

 

“Greatest danger?” He asked, arching an eyebrow. “You regularly keep company with a Qunari mercenary, and you see _me_ as the greatest danger?”

 

“Bull’s smart and strong. Clever too. But. Bull likes rules. Won’t make a call if he isn’t sure.” She let a breath filter into her and tried to relax. “You are very dangerous though.” She said looking away from his back and to the closed door.

 

“If it’s any consolation, I feel much the same about you.” He said imperiously, standing up straighter, his eyes flicking back to her momentarily before he returned to his task…. He certainly was taking his time with those bandages, wasn’t he?

 

Amy’s shoulders hunched. “Not.” She said, wilting. She watched him lean slightly to the side as if observing her from a different angle over his shoulder. “Won’t bring Solas to harm. Cause too much damage. Solas helps.” She noticed from the corner of her eye how he visibly relaxed at that. “Your spirit friend.” He blinked, staring ahead. “Wisdom? Danger.”

 

His expression hardened slightly. “You think associating with spirits is dangerous.” She wondered how he could keep the grumbling out of his tone.

 

She shook her head. “No. Not that. Spirits danger, but not because of _spirits_.” She took in a deep breath and tried to continue. She clung to her new clothes, as if her connection to them could make her stronger somehow. “Wisdom spirit….is _in_ danger.” He turned slightly. “Exalted planes. Mages. Try to bind spirit. Force it to kill.” He tensed up at that.

 

“That would mean…”

 

She nodded. “Twist spirit. Will want mercy. Will want you to—”

 

“That will not happen.” Solas interrupted, his voice raised as he took a half step towards her. Her eyes slid over to him, watching as he tried to gather himself, to regain his composure.

 

“Solas protect? Keep safe?”

 

His expression became quite grim. “I will find a way.” He seemed to consider her before turning back to retrieve the bandages. “Why are you telling me this?”

 

Amy regarded him at length while the war raged in her mind. She could _probably_ tell Solas. He would _probably_ even believe her. But how would he react? Would he still see her as a threat? Could the two of them work together somehow?

 

“Love Solas.” She said, making him visibly flinch and then freeze in place. “Not like that…” She tried to soothe. “Want no harm.” She felt so very tired.

 

“You should conserve your strength.” He said, handling the bandages with care. It seemed he didn’t want them to stick to each other… was the application of salve so precise that they couldn’t overlap?… unless…wait, was he nervous?

 

“Solas… need to tell them…’bout Skyhold.” That got his attention. Their eyes met, all thoughts of the troublesome bandages abandoned.

 

Solas evaluated her for long seconds before murmuring. “You know of Skyhold then…” it wasn’t a question, not exactly. She nodded, but regretted it with the strange disconnected feeling that swayed over her vision. “I see…” he pretended to eye something that was inconsequential, and thus Amy didn’t bother with it. “Where did you learn of it?”

 

“Not the fade.” Amy grunted with a smirk, getting a matching smirk from him.

 

“Indeed.”

 

“Solas.” Amy said, her voice solid with firm conviction. She needed him to hear her, and they didn’t have a lot of time. “Corypheus comes…with army and false archdeacon…” The words were coming so fast, and they didn’t sound right. Garbled by her attempts to lock the muscles of her neck and jaw in place.

 

She shook her head, but closed her eyes against the dizzy spell. “Haven…not defensible.” She heard his footsteps as he drew closer. “If we… trick them. Make them attack Haven… can maybe buy time. Maybe even.. Kill dragon. Is important.” He tipped her chin up with his free hand.

 

“Shhh.” He murmured, approaching her very slowly. Almost as if her feared she were some feral beast that would spook and lash out if he seemed too threatening.

 

“Solas…” She stared up at him. “If you say no.. Then.. Then I won’t, but…” her eyes watered “So many lives…” she swallowed hard. “Have to help.”

 

Amy looked up at him. He was squinting down at her in a very worried yet clinical fashion. Underneath all that, she knew that he felt all the responsibility , all the weight of every life lost in this...

 

“ _Ir abelas, Hahren._ ” 

 

The words flowed, smooth and sure. She remembered Sola’s words about how the language was supposed to have a rhythm that some elves could sense...she hoped that her feelings—the sympathy, the comfort the lack of judgement—reached him.

 

And the mood suddenly shifted. It was at once devastating and the most monuments sense of relief mingled in the most unbalancing seesaw of emotions.

 

“You..” His voice strangled slightly. “You truly know…” It was a question. It was nearly a supplication. Begging for her to put him out of his misery and finally reveal the truth.

 

She gently took his wrist in her hands, and placed it against the right edge of her neck. “I know you…” she said with a joyful if still somehow dreary smile. “I know you, Pride. I know you, Solas. I know you, Fen’Harel.”

 

Tears streaked from her eyes, unrestrained, because Solas flinched and began to crumble right in front of her. His eyes now widened and wilting began to look so glassy. He bowed like a beam still attempting to uphold more than it could bear. And he ducked his head down, just slightly… so that if he were to lean forward only a few scant inches, he would rest his forehead on Amy’s shoulder.

 

Seeing pain so visible on him, when the facade had been so well kept and carefully constructed…it was impossible to hold back her reaction.

 

Her hand grasped at his sleeve, desperate and grave. “Solas. All of us… are people. All of us. And all of The People need you.” She said.

 

He took a great gust of breath through his nose, attempting to settle himself, to right his composure. Eyes still misty, jaw still clenched, but rallying…rallying to himself again. He nodded, determined.

 

“We will make a way.” He said at last, and Amy felt as though she could happily collapse …in fact, she probably wasn’t that far from doing so, considering the enormous release of emotions that ran through her now.

 

Sorrow for the past, determination for the present, and hope for the future.

 

“We’ll have to find time… when you are well, of course.” Solas was saying. “I’m sure Leliana will want to debrief you very soon.” Amy nodded.

 

And then there was a knock at the door.

 

“Why are you knocking?” Magpie’s voice resonated through the not-so-thick wood.

 

“I’m not sure if this is the one they went to.” That would be Siheta.

 

There was a pause.

 

“He said he’d take her to the one beside Adan’s hut.” Again, Magpie.

 

“There are two houses that flank Adan’s hut.” Siheta reasoned.

 

“Oh for the love of..” Amy muttered with a tired chuckle.

 

Solas took another deep, grounding breath before putting the bandages on the table, placing his bag of things on the floor, and sitting in the chain at Amy’s side.

 

“Come in.” He called as he placed the first of the salve soaked bandages. Amy hissed when what could only be described as the burn from a disinfectant scalded her open flesh.

 

The two entered, Magpie like a swooping bird in flight skipping to Amy’s other side… but Siheta lingered just at the doorway. She surveyed Solas and Amy, a look of veiled curiosity on her face.

 

Amy assumed at once that Siheta had known this was the right place, but she hadn’t wanted to intrude… She couldn’t help but wonder if Siheta had also picked up on her uneasiness towards Solas… It seemed likely, given everything.

 

Amy smiled softly, and she knew that the smile was backed up with genuine comfort when Siheta noticeably relaxed.

 

“I told you she was fine.” Magpie consoled, suddenly concerned over Siheta’s hesitance.

 

“Yeah…” Siheta said, her chest expanding with a deep breath before she sauntered over. “Well.. Not fine, but she’ll be getting there.”

 

“How’d go?” Amy asked.

 

Siheta’s face twitched slightly. “I told them that I recognized the men who attacked us, and that’s how we managed to …not…let them get the jump on us.”

 

“Really?” Magpie asked. “Is that the official story? Because I remember you saying something, like…like you overheard them, and then Amy started looking for them, and then they were just there. All at once.”

 

Solas blinked, looking up from his work. His clever eyes darted between Siheta and Magpie.

 

“That’s the story.” Siheta said. “That I recognized them.” She sounded a bit grim.

 

“Sorry. Had to lie for me.” Amy murmured.

 

“What …I beg your pardon, of course.” Solas said. “But, it appears I am inducted into your confidence.” He elaborated, his eyes returning to Amy’s back. He placed two more very small bandages (soaked in something that stung and burned like fire before it soothed and felt like gel) along and around her wound track. “What exactly _did_ happen?”

 

“Siheta heard them.” Amy said, her nearly child-like, almost sing-songish.

 

“My connection to the Fade is unique.” Siheta said. “It allows me to pick up on things… traits and feelings mostly, but sometimes those feelings are telling enough that I can hear intentions that they motivate.”

 

Solas' eyes snapped to Siheta before sizing her up. “That’s fascinating.”

 

“Siheta found this…this thing I have.” Amy garbled, not quite sure how to classify exactly whatever it was that was going on with her.

 

“This thing?” Magpie asked, more than a little ammused at how vague the statement was.

 

“Honestly, Amy. You can just say magic.”

 

“So…” Solas murmured, gathering up the larger, dry bandages. “You’ve discovered your magic.”

 

“You have magic?” Magpie asked, looking for all the world as though Christmas had come early… though.. Amy supposed that Christmas never really came to Thedas…

 

“No…” Amy said shaking her head, a little surprised when both Solas and Siheta stared at her.

 

“Amy…” Siheta began. “You _do_.”

 

“Is not tho.” Amy grumbled. “Not really. Just… just different.”

 

“Hey…” Magpie half cooed, tipping Amy’s chin up. “There’s no reason to be scared.”

 

“Is not.” Amy protested, hoping she could will it to be a thing. Because she didn’t have magic the way that people had it here. It wasn’t really right. So… so it wasn’t really real. “I don’t even…” she swallowed, her eyes darting to Solas and then down.

 

“You don’t…what?” Magpie asked, giving Solas a side glance. The mage blinked in confusion.

 

“She doesn’t connect to the fade.” Siheta said that thing that Amy was tried to swallow back down into her gut, her head hanging low.

 

“Really??” Magpie asked, fascinated as she stared back at Siheta and then to Amy. “…How can you tell?”

 

“She doesn’t dream in the Fade, and I cant connect to her the same way that I can connect to others.” Siheta said in the most matter-of-fact way.

 

“M’not like tranquil.” Amy murmured, and Solas busied himself with wrapping the bandages.

 

“Oh, really?” Magpie asked, sounding at once relieved and half laughing. “Is _that_ what you’re worried about? Honestly, Amy, everyone knows that. No one’s said that you were!” There was a beat of silence while Solas worked, and Magpie stared at Amy. “…No one has, _right_?”

 

The silence grew very tense as Solas gathered secured the bandages and then packed up the random things that he had used from his bag.

 

Siheta was giving him a look that was somewhere between wry and sympathetic. Like she couldn’t decide.

 

Because no one had _said_ anything… It was a weak spot for her, because she knew that Solas had woken to a world of people he viewed as, essentially, tranquil… And Amy couldn’t even connect to the Fade.

 

Magpie glared at Solas before grinding out, “You. Son. Of a bitch.” Solas’ shoulders twitched in a noticeable droop. Amy would’ve laughed at the terminology any other time, but… right now…

 

“Mag—”

 

“No.” Magpie interrupted. “You wanna piss all over the Dalish, fine. That’s what everyone else does anyway.” She grumbled. “But Amy works herself to the bone for everyone _but_ herself, and you will _not_ insult her while I’m alive and near enough to hear it.” She grounds her molars in obvious vexation. “You’re _such_ an elitist ass.”

 

After a half breath, Solas says, “I am.”

 

The occupants of the room wait for more… a ‘Sorry’ or perhaps a pompous ‘unrepentant’…. But only the affirmation. He even sounded a touch abashed about it.

 

Siheta’s eyebrows rose in amused surprise. Magpie blinked at this before following up with, “You smell horrid and dress badly too.”

 

Solas stared at her. “Is this just becoming a sling of insults all addressing my apparent flaws?”

 

“I was on a roll.” Magpie quipped with a smirk. Solas shook his head and turned back to tending to Amy’s bandages…which…looked, for all the world, as though they were perfectly in place. Amy relaxed when she noticed that he was, albeit only just barely, grinning.

 

“Done?” Amy asked. Solas nodded. “Should prob’ly get Bull back.” She didn’t fancy walking back up to the Chantry now that she’d been stationary for so long.

 

“No.” Solas said with a finality that helped her to not move one little bit…

 

Wait. What? “Wot?”

 

“You’ll be staying here tonight.” Solas determined. “You need rest, and you won’t get it at the chantry. I can also check and reapply your bandages as you need it.”

 

Amy blinks dumbly at this. She forces herself into a frozen sort of stasis… she can’t react, because…well… there are a lot of things to consider... Not to mention she has an idea that she won’t like being unconscious here with Solas… it’s a little disconcerting. But to say that out loud might be hazardous. 

 

“Aww..” Magpie coos. “If you wanted a feminine presence, you just had to ask, old man.”  Solas gives her a bored glare. “You’ll have a feast after all this famine…” she murmurs, pretending to look around this sparse… house? Building? Whatever. “Siheta and I are going to be bunking here too.”

 

Solas’ face puckers in surprise. “Whatever for?”

 

“Sam’s orders, for one.” Magpie said matter-of-factly, before following up with. “And because leaving here to sleep here alone would be weird.” He gave her a slightly confused look of reproach. “What? I’d feel weird having to sleep with you in the room.” Magpie grumbled.

 

Another muted glare from Solas which seemed to be a combination of ‘oh really?’ and ‘you little shit’ that Solas patented specifically for Magpie.

 

“Alright, kids.” Siheta murmurs, her hands finding purchase on her hips. “Our patient seems to be drooping.”

 

“M’fine.” Amy grunted, drowsier than she’d like to admit.

 

“Yeah. She says that whenever she’s dead on her feet.” Magpie murmured. “Let’s see about getting you something to eat before we set you up for a nice long nap.”

 

At this point, anything sounded heavenly. Amy was much too tired to protest, and forgot any reason why she would.


	23. Elrond's got Nothing on This

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sweet Wounded Druffalo O..O you guys...this chapter is huge. Like, I knew it would have to be, but damn!
> 
> Added note: school sucks. Thank the Maker for breaks. Even if Fall Break is tiny, it's still a break. I've been whittling away at this chapter for, what? Three weeks now? At least with the break I had plenty of time strung together to actually work on it as a whole. 
> 
> Anyway, prompts, links, and tidbits are all up on my Striving Scribe tumblr. Hey :) If you like what I’m about, and you want to help me erect a bloodstone circle to protect myself from the smiling god, you could totally follow my tumblr and heart some entries :3 That’d be cool of you.
> 
> And hey...thanks :)

It was the scritchy-scratch noise that woke Amy, though she had the feeling it had been going on longer than her moment of awareness.

 

When she did manage to get her eyes open, she was on a bed… She was on the side of the bed that faced towards the doorway, and Magpie was curled up on the opposite. Siheta had managed to fit onto a large cot that lay length-ways at the foot of the bed. Solas was also on a cot, but he was across the room, closer to the door.

 

Varric was the only one conscious(aside from her, of course). He was half-hunched-half-sprawled over a table, quill in hand as he wrote on parchment by the light of a single candle. He seemed so entranced, Amy almost wanted to ask what he was doing, but at the same time felt like she’d be interrupting.

 

Amy crossed her right arm over herself, grasping the edge of the mattress and using that to pull herself onto her side. She eased herself forward, till she could get both of her hands planted firmly on the mattress. It was a process, slow and steady. Then she pushed herself up. It still wasn’t completely painless, but it was the only way to get up without completely murdering the muscles in her back.

 

…They still weren’t happy, but they had yet to go on strike.

 

At the movement, which he obviously caught out of the corner of his eye, Varric stopped writing. “Easy there, Charmer. You’ve had a rough day.” He reminded, his voice not whispering at all but still not loud. “You hungry?”

 

She blinked and rubbed at her eyes with one hand. “Thirsty.” She murmured.

 

He rose, pouring out a small cup of water from the pitcher and basin on the table, then brought it to her. She gratefully took a few long gulps, scouring the raw feeling out of her mouth.

 

“I don’t know if it’s my job to inform you, but I’m going to. If you so much as step one tiny toe to this floor, I’ll have to wake these poor slobs up.” He said, motioning in a wide circle to the three sleeping figures in the room. “Magpie only just got to sleep too. Chuckles and Siheta were out like lights, but she fought it.”

 

Amy scowled at him before turning to look at Magpie’s (adorable) sleeping face.

 

“Black. Mail.” Amy muttered at Varric. His body gave a little laugh-jerk though there wasn’t much sound to it. The man was used to being sneaky… he obviously knew how to keep a lid on himself.

 

He handed her a few round wafer-like biscuits which she examined before biting into. It was a simple shortbread cookie that tasted rich and buttery and delicious…though, anything would be ‘rich’ compared to the diet of porridge, hardtack, gruel, and occasional cooked-down-till-it-was-barely-recognizable meat she’d been having. He took a moment to refill her cup.

 

“You writin?”

 

He smiled, handing the cup over to her, and then pouring himself one. “Yeah. Nothing special, just letters.”

 

“Hm.” Amy murmured, her mouth momentarily full of cookie. “Who?” Amy asked, forgetting that it really wasn’t her business.

 

He gave her a peculiar look, his eyes narrowing just slightly but his smile never wavering. “You don’t know?”

 

“Know could be.” Amy supplied.

 

“Well…I’m not sure how reliable even Leliana’s birds will be in reaching a well-hidden Dalish…” He waited, smirking at her expectantly.

 

“Ah.” Varric was watching her, obviously waiting. Charmer smiled, swallowing the cookie before softly singing. “Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer, do. I’m half crazy, all for the love of you.”

 

His eyebrows went up at that, but he nodded as if satisfied. “Indeed.” He murmured, a touch distracted. “Like I said, nothing… really interesting.” Amy blinked at that. “S’not like I’m writing about the Inquisition or anything.”

 

“Give it time.” Amy said with a smirk, sipping some water.

 

“Yeah.” Varric was staring at her, gauging what to say next. “Charmer…” he sighed. “If there were something…maybe something you wanted to tell me…?” he shook his head. “I don’t really know how to phrase this.”

 

Amy thought about all the things she _could_ tell Varric… he had as much right to the truth as Cassandra, but… She felt like the lie between Varric and Cassandra had been something Cassandra was owed. Mostly because the Seeker assumed she’d been given the truth… She deserved to have that truth. Having it would make her less hostile to Varric later on. Varric just didn't know he  _could_ trust her.

 

…When it came down to it, Corypheus, the red lyrium….that wasn’t something that Varric really owned. Yes, he had found the thaig, and yes, he’d led Hawke to Corypheus… But those are things that would’ve eventually happened one way or another without Varric(most likely). When you took that away, what else was there to tell him?

 

..then again…Varric loved his friends…. Perhaps, she could tell him something else…

 

“Avvar …’mazing cul ture.” Amy said at last, catching Varric slightly off guard.

 

“Oh yeah?”

 

She nodded. “You know… their Augurs…commune with spirits.” Varric blinked at that. “And ah pren tiss ez have to…summon a spirit…” she tapped her chest, in a motion to the body in general. “Inside….and the spirit teaches mage control. Patience. Kindness. Then… student re lease ez spirit.” Varric’s eyes went round at that. “Cahmp le cate ed, but… poss’ble.”

 

“No shit..?” He said, sounding breathless. “Damn.”

 

Amy nodded, not even sure what she was agreeing with except the sense of ‘if only we’d known!’.

 

“All those poor Tranquil bastards the chantry was so afraid would’ve turned into abominations.”

 

“Tranquility is not…final.”

 

Varric blinked at her as she took another long sip of water.

 

“Seekers have secret. Reverse.”

 

Now, he was glaring. Not at her. He was simply glaring in general. “The Seeker knows how to reverse the rite of Tranquility?”

 

“No.” Amy said firmly. “She does not know.” She regarded him with tired eyes weary not just from being over-taxed but from the weight of everything. “She…will learn… at Caer Oswin.”

 

His expression grounded into something that was half guilty and half worried and over-all filled with pain. “That’s the place you told us about? The one where the Seekers are being killed.”

 

Amy nodded, drooping now that her belly was full.

 

“Hows about you settle in for another nap, Charmer?” He suggested, taking the cup from her hands. She caught his wrist.

 

“Varric… s’no more her fault..than it is yours.” Varric tried to smile at her, but Amy had a feeling that he wouldn’t be comfortable about the subject of Cassandra untill…

 

…well, hell. Maybe never. But…whenever Hawke did show up, and Cassandra didn’t rake him over the coals for it… maybe then.

 

“I know, Charmer.” He said, and Amy was at least moderately comforted by how sincere he sounded. Maybe he was just telling her a story, too, but… In the end, she’d choose to believe him.

 

She took a deep breath. “I’mma sleep.” She murmured, slowly letting her arms slide down until she was laying flat again. Varric hadn’t even returned to his chair before she was already making good on that.

 

* * *

 

~*~

* * *

 

Amy woke to someone stroking her hair… Not an entirely unpleasant way to wake up, but certainly not one she was accustom to. Small hands, smooth, without the usual feminine scrape or snag of fingernails...“Jay?” She murmured, half awake. She was having a horrible time trying to pry her eyes open, and even then her vision wasn't right. It kept blurring and doubling.

 

“Hey, Amy. Do you think you can wake up?” That would be Magpie, soft and careful and caring. Not Jaime...because Jaime didn’t exist in this world.

 

“She won’t have much of a choice very soon.” That would be Solas, sounding none too pleased. Not that he ever sounded enthusiastic...but, this time it was remarkably caustic.

 

Amy pried her eyes open to a room that was… well. People were certainly bustling about now, weren’t they? Wait, were there more people?...she blinked a few times, hoping her eyes would re-orient themselves.

 

Siheta was carrying in a small table. She placed it near enough to the bed that Amy could’ve reached it. Siheta also didn’t look very pleased.

 

“I brought some chairs.” Varric was saying with a chair under each arm as he walked in. “It’ll be awkward if we’re all standing and—oh, hey there, Sleepy head.”

 

Amy blinked as Varric set the chairs down and then left again… presumably to get some more chairs.

 

“Sorry, Amy.” Magpie said in what had to be her ‘I’m really trying to be soothing’ voice. “We tried to talk them out of it, but Leliana and Josephine—”

 

“And the ever pompous _Madame_ de Fer.” Solas grumbled.

 

“Well, they think we need to have a big meeting… like. Right now.”

 

Amy jerked forward and got half-way to sitting upright before her back reminded her that she may be the dumbest bitch in all of creation. She panted on the bed after collapsing in a heap. “Kuso..” She groaned while Magpie’s arms made strange frantic circular motions.

 

…. Was she impersonating an actual magpie or trying to direct air traffic?…

 

Solas sighed. “Honestly, Amy.” He said in the most dapper tone possible…it was so damn English, it was laughable. ‘I’m terribly disappointed, but I’m sure I can convey that with my expression alone, thus I shall endeavor to keep it under this buttoned-up waistcoat’ sort of thing.

 

“No one fails... quite so …spek tak you lar lee.” Amy grumbled. Magpie helped her roll onto her side and then use her arms to push herself up, hovering and fretting the entire time.

 

“I can think of one other.” Solas said with a half smirk. Amy couldn’t help but chuckle at that. If Solas could laugh at his own expense…well, maybe there was hope for Pride.

 

“How are you feeling this morning?” Siheta asked, observing Amy in her unblinking way.

 

“Been better.” Amy murmured.

 

“We should probably check your wounds and re-apply fresh bandages before everyone gets here.” Solas said, fully turning away from what he was working. Yikes. More salve soaked bandages. Did he just have those on hand?

 

Magpie helped Amy shrug out of her ‘new dress’, which was easy since it buttoned up the front and all. She still didn’t have a suitable undershirt, but it wasn’t like she was going to be reporting to the field anytime soon. Even she knew that.

 

At first, they attempted to remove the old bandages by peeling them away, but… many were crossed over each other, and the salve was making them stick. In the end, they simply cut the old bandages off of her….

 

Amy tried to shift so that her side was more accessible, leaning heavily on her other arm to really expose her wounded half. She hissed at the discomfort of stretching sore muscles. “…Why’sit so hard?” she half groaned.

 

Magpie winced and then muttered. “Well..you’re just so pretty…” Amy snorted and winced again.

 

Siheta gave her a soft smile. “It’s just because you’re not made like us, Amy.”

 

Solas blinked at that, his gaze snapping to Siheta once before he scanned Amy, evaluating and reevaluating. He cocked his head to the side just slightly, his eyes never pausing on any one point of her form for more than a second, and then his eyes widened… it was nearly laughable. “Hah..” He muttered to himself. “I see…”

 

Magpie blinked at him, her eyes sliding to Amy without moving her face before they returned to Solas. She hesitantly reached out a hand, waving it in front of Solas’s face. He blinked rapidly, staring at Magpie questioningly. She arched an eyebrow in an obvious question.

 

“Ah..uh..” He cleared his throat. “Perhaps… conjecture and theory should wait until this…” He gestured in Amy’s general direction. “…Is, uh..” He nodded. “Handled.”

 

“Smooth.” Magpie murmured with a smirk. Solas only sighed, but the subject seemed to be dropped.

 

Solas, Siheta, and Magpie all careened over her to peer at her back.

 

“Hmm.” Solas murmured. “The wound itself hasn’t changed overmuch, but the gradient and appearance of the area is certainly much healthier.” He announced.

 

Magpie sighed, the signs of relief visible on her entire body. She and Siheta sat on either side of Amy. Siheta was on Amy’s good side (literally), and she encouraged Amy to lean onto her for support.

 

Just then the door opened, and none other than Cullen came through. He had a bunch of papers in his hands and a scowl on his face, until he was in the room and saw…well..everyone. Then his eyes went wide and he turned his gaze sharply to the left with a softly whispered, ‘Maker’s breath!’.

 

“Is ok, Cullen.” Amy assured.

 

She was curiously fixated with the muscles of his neck as she watched him swallow, still looking away, though his eyes darted to the side every so often. She wanted to blame that on his raging blush, which climbed up his neck and to his ears much like a cartoon animation of the red gauge of a thermostat rising with increasing heat.

 

The next person through the door, and the one who shut it, was Sam. He did not freeze or blush or look away as Cullen had. Instead, he strode right up to them, looming at Solas’s side and staring at Amy’s damaged flesh. His gaze was dispassionate and grim, and Amy could see the wheels in his head turning.

 

“Is fine, Sammy.” Amy murmured, soft and soothing.

 

“Is not _fine_ , Amy.” Sam grumbled, his brow peaked. “Is so very _very_ not fine. Is the opposite of fine.” He spat through clenched teeth.

 

Amy reached over and took his wrist (the one without the mark) into her hand and put his hand over her left shoulder and on the top of her chest. “Heart beats. Strong. Sure. Will be better soon.”

 

Truth be told, his touch provoked a feeling that was well beyond ‘uneasy’… Like.. Like ants or tiny bugs were crawling along her skin, but only if those bugs and ants had tiny bits of electricity running through their bodies, shocking her with every pin-pricked step they took.

 

Sam was always uneasy about the hand with the mark. Amy had noticed that right after she’d discovered that Sam was the herald. The hand that bore the mark was encased in a thick leather glove. Always. Also, it was always somewhat hidden. Usually, Sam hid it behind his back (curled into the small of his back) or under the table. But he always held it away from people.

 

Right now, he was holding it out, behind him.. As far away from Amy as he could get it. It almost looked like he was trying to keep his balance or something.

 

…She wondered—momentarily because her thoughts were disoriented and she couldn’t keep them for very long—if Sam felt uneasy around other people the way Amy felt around him. Physically, that is. The thought made her loosen her grip on his hand.

 

He immediately half-flinched away. Perhaps he _did_ get the same antsy sensation when people touched him... He surveyed the hand he had snatched back and gave her a remorseful look. She only smiled, trying to be understanding even though she wasn't entirely sure of anything.

 

Meanwhile, Cullen had stopped looking away, taking a hesitant step forward. He stared bleakly at her, her side to be specific, with what had to be horrified concern… Or maybe it was just the wounded puppy look. Either way, Amy assumed it was concern.

 

“You don’t have to worry so much.” Sam grumbled. “I haven’t killed the culprits, and I’m not gonna.” He said, easing away. He crossed both arms, looking pouty as he eased himself more towards Magpie’s side of the bed.

 

“Haven’t?”

 

“Ha!” He cried, pointing right to Amy’s face. “I knew you were concerned for them!” he grumbled.

 

Amy blinked and glared at his hand. “S’rude to point.” She reminded, which had Sam shoving his hands into his pockets.

 

“Hey, Curly?”

 

“Huh?” Cullen snapped out of his daze and looked to a smirking Varric.

 

“How about helping me carry in some chairs?” he snarked, his eyes narrowing.

 

Cullen blinked rapidly and then sprang into action. “Chairs. Right.” He said, laying the papers he’d brought with him on the table and trotting out the door. Varric watched him with an arched eyebrow before looking back at Amy and smirking. Then he swaggered his way through the door as well.

 

“Magpie?” Solas began. Magpie gave him, what could only call, a belligerent look. “Would you please put these new bandages on Amy’s wound?” He entreated, handing her the bandages. Magpie blinked in shock before taking the bandages and doing as he’d asked.

 

“Oh yeah..” Sam blinked. “I guess you’re, uh…kinda not decent…” It sounded like he was only just noticing it. The look on his face was comical, his brow drawn down and his eyes somewhat confusedly glaring at the wall.

 

“Never have been.” Amy grunted, trying not to wince as the bandage squished against her skin. Geeeh. It wasn’t even that it stung anymore… so much as she was sensitive to the pressure, and the texture of the salve was...icky.

 

Sam snorted at that.

 

“Alright,” Magpie murmured, seeing the last bandaged seated properly in place. “Let’s get your clothes back on before all the important guests arrive.”

 

“Yeah…hey…” Sam looked around, completely confused before looking back to Amy in shock. “Where the fuck did Cullen go?”

 

“Far, far away.” Amy said with a soft chuckle. “Amy McManus...scaring men off since…” She trailed off as soon as she realized that her way of telling time wouldn’t matter here… Wait, how old was she according to their calendar? When would her birthday be??

 

Her eyes drifted until she reacted to Magpie buttoning up her top button by leaning away, resulting in a hiss-worthy wince.

 

“Sorry.” Magpie moaned, snatching her hands back quickly.

 

“S’my fault for...drifting.” Amy murmured.

 

“...are you okay? You looked really sad for a moment there..” Magpie’s words were careful.

 

“Yeah..” Amy’s voice seemed too soft. “Just...there’r no Octobers here…”

 

Magpie blinked rapidly. “What’s an Ahktober?”

 

“Month. I was born in.” Amy murmured, feeling more depressed about it. She couldn’t really help it… She’d been born into a world of Octobers, and she had taken it for granted. It wasn't so here. No more looking forward to watching her favorite cheezy movies paired with horror movies (which could also, but not always, be cheesy)...no more singing 'This is Halloween' on October 1st all the way till November begins...none of that existed here...

 

Magpie’s eyes swung from Siheta to Solas and then to Sam. Siheta and Solas did an admirable job of avoiding her gaze, and Sam only shrugged. But then, Leliana, Josephine, and Cassandra were walking into the room, and there was little time for idle talk.

 

Amy felt the need to sit up...but she knew she wouldn’t be able to. She was just grateful that Siheta and Magpie hadn’t been removed from this meeting.

 

“My, you look dreadfully pale.” Josephine murmured, she lingered from her place at the far end of the table. She seemed genuinely concerned… Of course, Josie had not been among those she’d seen after her... accident. She shook herself, “I apologize. That was...not the best way to begin.”

 

Amy just shook her head, still too tired to care … or do much at all really.

 

“It’s not untrue, Josie.” Leliana said, looking utterly contrite. It made Amy a touch nervous… what could be grave enough to make Leliana feel guilty? “My agents were unable to intercept the men who attacked you until the deed was done..” She murmured, inhaling and sighing.

 

Was that it?

 

“Will be fine.” Amy tried. Tried so hard to sound confident of that.

 

Amy was entranced by the look of open wonder on Magpie’s face. The little elf often had almost child-like expressions, and right now she appeared to be very surprised at Leliana’s genuine regrets over Amy’s predicament.

 

Others began to filter in slowly. Blackwall and Bull had joined the crusade to gather chairs, as they all filtered back into the room. Sera was with them, but not helping to carry chairs...because why would she bother when so many men were doing it anyway? Madame de Fer was last to arrive, fashionably late being the priority no doubt. When they were all there, each of them took a chair and sat.

 

It was odd, the lot of them crowded into this tiny place, spread out in a wobbly oval around this skinny table. Cullen, directly across from Amy,  managed to spread the map of Ferelden out…. though it looked nothing like any version of the war room.

 

“Amy.” Solas murmured, rising to move the heavy map-markers in front of Amy. “Whenever you are ready.”

 

There were four of them… Amy regarded them with resigned dread, but nodded. With some effort, Amy stood. This feat was accomplished with a great deal of help from Siheta and Magpie, who stood with her.

 

“Mages.” Amy whispered, placing a marker over Redcliffe. “Templars.” And the next marker went over Therinfal Redoubt. “Seekers.” Lastly, the marker over Caer Oswin. She swallowed.

 

“So, the Lord Seeker has taken the Templars to Therinfal Redoubt.” Cassandra murmurs.

 

“Not Lord Seeker.” Amy grumbles. “Lucius...Corin…” she spat. “Is...at Caer. Oswin.”

 

There was a heavy silence as multiple people took the time to interpret these words. There were questions, so many questions… but which to ask…?

 

Cullen, never afraid to rely on a shield as much as a sword, took the plunge. “We knew that the mages had retreated to castle Redcliffe.” This was not the question he wanted to ask, but that question could have a number of horrible answers. Best to play it safe for now.

 

“Know about Magister?” Amy asked. He blinked at her. “Gereon. Alexius.” Amy is momentarily distracted by Solas who was shifting around. The man does not do anything without purpose…

 

Cullen looks between Josephine and Leliana, and while Josephine returns his gaze with equal curiosity… Leliana appears more ...guarded. Cullen’s eyes narrow, but Amy decides to intervene before this becomes a shouting match.

 

“Alexius… Serves.. The elder one.” Amy announced. Solas handed Amy a flask and she stared at it. “S’a little early.”

 

“It will help you speak more clearly.” He reminded, and she took the flask with a sigh. Amy took three hefty chugs and a second to breathe.

 

“Best. Healer. Evar.” She croaked. That caused a few soft chuckles around the room.

 

“So, this magister arsehole.” Sera began. “Waz’he want wit them mages anyhow?”

 

“Most will be ...mind controlled into weapons.”

 

“What.” Bull’s voice droned, less of a question and more of a desperate denial.

 

“Why not? Desperate...and de-human-ized.” Amy shrugged. “Take ‘em. Wipe ‘em. Point the glass cannon...and not give a shit when it shatters.”

 

She took a deep breath, took another swig, and let those sounds be the only ones that permeated the room. Everyone was either too shocked, or too wrapped up in their own thoughts to add.

 

She pointed to Caer Oswin. “Lord Seeker… is here. Killing other Seekers.” She snarled. “Lures them… one at a time..” She shook her head, utterly revolted. “Bastard.”

 

“Uhh...can we go back to these mindless mages that are, what? Gonna be made into some sort of army and then used on us?” Blackwall asked.

 

“Alexius..will convert or brainwash… all the mages he can use..” Amy said.

 

“And the ones he cannot use?” Leliana entreated.

 

“Still has use for Tranquil. You seen ‘em.” she jutted her flask towards Sam, who blinked rapidly in response. “Ok-you-lar-um.”

 

“Wait...you mean those stands with the skulls…” Varric’s voice trailed off.

 

Amy growled. “Skulls of the Tranquil.”

 

“So...so, they…” Sera’s face scrunched up and she squeezed her eyes shut and practically vibrated in place. “Not thinkin’ about it… not thinkin’ about it.”

 

Amy polished off what was left in Solas’s mystery flask, and handed it back to him. It’s too bad, since his stoic expression conveyed that he could probably use a drink himself.

 

“Shoulda done this...at the tavern. Could all use the drink.” Amy murmured. “I gotta sit.” Siheta and Magpie slowly eased her back into a seated position on the bed.

 

“If the Lord Seeker is in Caer Oswin…” Cullen began, staring at the marker over Caer Oswin before his eye shifted to the marker over Therinfall Redoubt. “..then who has led the Templars to Therinfall Redoubt?” This was the question he had been wanting to ask.

 

Amy considered her words before responding. “You write Barris?”

 

Cullen nodded, not deterred. “The day after you advised me to. I haven’t received word back.”

  

“Templars are also in ….grave danger.” Amy said shaking her head. Solas’s concoction certainly had loosened her jaw muscles. Amy’s eyes landed on Sera and then Bull. “Sorry.”

 

“...oi… why’re you lookin’ at us when you say that?” Sera asked fidgeting in her seat. Bull appeared to tense just slightly, as if steeling himself.

 

“Not-Lord Seeker.” Amy reminded. “In…” she shook her head. “En..ve.”

 

“Envy.” Cullen’s voice was like a lightening strike. A single bright flash that promised a thunderous boom to follow. His next words were nearly a whisper, and yet they were the thunder  “An Envy demon.”

 

“Fuuuuuck.” Bull groaned, half throwing his head back. Many other people around the table were making their own faces. Then came the words.

 

“An Envy demon?” Josephine looked stricken.

 

“How?”

 

“And for what purpose?”

 

Amy’s eyes landed on Varric. Varric started shaking his head. “I’m not gonna like this, am I?”

 

“S’not your fault.” Amy tried to remind. Varrici sighed and nodded, waiting. And Amy wasn’t the sort to stall when everyone was on the edge of their seats… not for something this important. She looked to Sam.

 

“Know this...When you choose one path, you abandon the other. If you choose to go to Redcliffe, you will loose the Templars. If you choose to go to Therinfall… you will forsake the Mages. That is...how it played out when I saw it.” She took a deep breath. “If the Mages fall...to the elder one. They will become his mind-controlled pawns. If the Templars fall to the elder one… they will succumb to the lyrum and become horrific abomination wrecking balls.”

 

“Lyrium doesn’t work that way.” Cullen was quick to say.

 

“ _Regular_ lyrium...doesn’t.” Amy’s tone was careful. Considerate, because the topic was sensitive.

 

“Shit..” Varric muttered. “Shit!” this time a visceral exclamation. “They’re feeding them red lyrium, aren’t they?”

 

Amy only nodded.

 

Cullen’s face went slack. “That’s why you told me to write to Barris…. To warn him against the lyrium…”

 

“Um… wot?” Sera chirped.

 

“Templars are being given red lyrium to drink.” Amy murmured. “Red lyrium is… blighted lyrium.” That knowledge seemed to invoke a resounding silence.  It settled and spread, allowing everyone to digest what Amy had said…

 

Many of them didn’t fully understand the issue of lyrium and Templars, but they all knew the severity of the blight if nothing else.

 

“Could we not intervene for both parties?” Solas asked.

 

“That would be a worthy endeavor.” Josephine seconded.

 

“One way...or other…” Amy began. “Sam _must_ go to Redcliffe.”

 

“Why?” Vivienne asked with a lofty brow.

 

“Rifts. Will be there.” Amy said. “Only he can close ‘em.” she shook her head.

 

“But another team _could_ go to Therinfall Redoubt?” this came from Blackwall.

 

Amy nodded. “Knowing there is a trap is the first step in evading it.” she smirked. “Duke Leto Atreides...didn’t help him much.” she half muttered. She took a deep breath. “In what I saw… Sam gathers nobility of Orlais and goes to Therinfall…” Her eyes drifted up. “This...catches Envy’s eye.”

 

Cullen made a disgusted noise, and Vivienne also looked revolted.

 

Meanwhile...Amy was distracted by the term ‘Envy’s Eye’. It sounded like a really awesome band name...

 

“Once inside… Red Templars attack, and… Sam’s team along with Barris fight to the top… Envy enters the Herald’s mind, because… Envy wants to _know_ Sam.”

 

“Never on a first fight…” Sam grumbled.

 

Amy laughed, more breathy than loud. “Sam weakened Envy with the help of Cole.”

 

“Who?”

 

“Compassion.” Amy waved her hand dismissively. “Sam… keeps moving. Keeps expanding the area.” She touched a hand to her temple. “And Envy gets tired. Can’t keep its shape.”

 

Amy took a moment to breathe and steady herself. That drink that Solas gave her had her feeling a little loose, so the stiffness and aches were gone… but the struggle was real. She felt… very off balance.

 

“Templars defend the hall… Sam and team scour the grounds… seeking senior officers.” Her eyes dart about, as she rescans her own memories. “There are demons and red templars...but, no rifts. Three senior officers found, return to the hall. Many templars are dead… died fighting. Defending the hall.” Amy swallows, a cotton-esq feeling in her mouth. “Templars drink philters… destroy barrier made by Envy. Sam’s team fights Envy demon… Win. Recruit Templars.”

 

“Recruit?” Sera and Solas say this at the same time, and then stare at each other in shock.

 

“We could conscript them as well.” Leliana murmurs.

 

“That’s hardly necessary after all _that_.” Cullen snaps.

 

“They are obviously incapable of making balanced decisions.” Leliana reminded.

 

Josephine rolled her eyes, sighing heavily. She looked down at her...clipboard? What was that thing really? It was an old sort-of clipboard right? Before clipboards were a thing? ...before clipboards were clipboards...heheh. Hipster clipboard.

 

“But you said I had to go to the Mages.” Sam murmured, staring at the map in a strange forlorn sort of way.

 

“Going to Redcliffe... “ Amy took a deep breath and then began again. “No one knew you were coming. Grand Enchanter is surprised to see you, and shocked to hear you were invited by her… She has not been to Val Royeaux since...before the conclave.”

 

Sam blinked, dumbstruck.

 

“If that is true...then who did we see?” Cassandra asks.

 

“She does not know.” Amy said, focusing on the board. “She tells you the mages are...indentured to Tiventer.”

 

“Because _that’s_ sound decision making.” Bull grumbled, shifting in his seat so that he wasn’t reclining but sitting upright with his hands on his thighs.

 

“Hardly...their fault. Alexius warped time and space… to arrive when Mages were weakest. Offered them an ‘alliance’.” Amy said, making air quotes around the word ‘alliance’ as she spoke it.

 

“That is fascinating, if true.” Solas murmured.

 

“Getting ahead of myself.” Amy muttered, massaging her brow. She cleared her throat and tried to begin again. “You meet Alesiux...and his son seems off. He nearly falls on you. Alexius leaves, saying you’ll speak again… once he’s gone, you realize...Felix, Alexius’s son passed you.. A note. It says, ‘come to the chantry, you are in danger’.”

 

“Ooh.” Varric murmured. “Very mysterious.”

 

Amy nodded. “If you talk to people, and you really...really...must. Everyone but that bitch Linnea.” Amy sighed. “But especially Clemence…Lysas...Talwyn...even Hanley.” She shook her head again.. “When you go to the chantry...there’s a rift and demons and a man fighting the demons.”

 

“One guy? Just up in that chantry fighting demons?” Bull asked before nodding. “Kick ass.”

 

Amy smiled. “Dorian is...wonderful man.” She murmured. “He will tell you as much as I have… Time magic that Alexius used… used to get Mages under Tiventer rule.” Her eyes glazed over a bit before she shook off the melancholy. “They’re still chattel...just don’t realize it.”

 

“Well that’s depressing.” Varric muttered.

 

“Felix joins after he sneaks away from his father...He and Dorian want to help you stop Alexius.”

 

“Why?” Sam asked, a touch baffled.

 

“Both of them...they love Alexius...and they love Tiventer...but they don’t approve of the Venetori.”

 

“Venetori?” Vivienne asked with a quizzical tilt of her head.

 

“Tevinter...Supremacists. Cult led by the Elder One.”

 

“Who in blazes is this Elder One?” Cullen asked. “He sounds like he’s at the core of every plot, like a bad stereotype of a wicked magister.”

 

Amy half chuckled at that, and would have chuckled completely if it didn’t hurt to move. But then her eyes landed on Varric, and she stilled.

 

“Elder One… is an ancient Magister…” Varric’s eyes rounded in shock. “A priest of Dumat.”

 

“No.” Varric’s response was faint at first, until he leaned forward smacking a hand on the table. “No, that’s...that’s not possible, Charmer. Hawke put him down. I was there! I saw it!”

 

“Who?” Sera asks, mystified.

 

“Corypheus.” Amy says with a grim nod.

 

“Coryphy-wot?” Sera barks.

 

“Magister that Varric and Hawke killed.” Amy informs.

 

“Evidently not well enough.” Bull grunted.

 

“He was dead! We checked! No pulse, no breath! Dead as a doornail.” Varric’s denials began to grow a tad frantic.

 

“He was.” Amy confirmed, blessing the room with responding silence. “But...it didn’t take.”

 

“Dafuk does that mean?” Sera snipped.

 

“Corypheus can stave off death… He fancies himself a god because of it…” Amy shook her head. “Is not true. He can be killed. But… takes some. doing.”

 

“Wait.” Sam said, his voice strong and clear and calling for attention. “Let’s go back. We don’t have to worry about this Corypheus for a while, and I want to know what happens after meeting this Dorian and Felix in the chantry.”

 

Amy nods. Again, she had gotten ahead of herself. “They both want to be there...to help you stop Alexius. So. You all retreat to...respective corners.” Amy said, finding it hard to reopen her eyes after blinking them. “You come back here, and Alexius sends an invitation.”

 

“Damn… He must want you bad.” Bull grunted.

 

Amy nods. “You infiltrate castle with team and Dorian.”

 

“Now, wait a minute. Redcliffe castle is impenetrable.” Cullen refutes. “It has stood for ages against invasions. There’s no way in except the main bridge. How could we possibly sneak in there without them noticing?”

 

Amy looked at Leliana. The bard met her eyes for long minutes before drawing in a quick breath.

 

“There is another way in…” Leliana remembered. “A secret passage for the family, through the old windmill.”

 

“We’d never be able to sneak an armed force through there.” Cullen murmures.

 

“No. But my agents could slip in.”

 

Cullen considered this before nodding.

 

“Once his guards are dealt with… Alexius tries to take Sam out with a time spell, but Dorian prevents it...somewhat.”

 

“Somewhat?” Blackwall half groans, somehow sensing the worse was yet to come.

 

“The spell was supposed to...supposed to erase Sam from time entirely, but...it sends him ahead one year.” Amy blinks rapidly. “You...you and Dorian fight your way through the bowels of the castle… You find… grand enchanter Fiona… and red lyrium is growing out of her body. She’s completely immobile and suffering greatly.”

 

“Maker…”

 

“Once you’re fed the red lyrium...it starts to grow in you...and out of you. Once you die, they mine your corpse for it.” She swallows thickly. “You find out… you have been gone a year.”

 

“You don’t have any more of that drink on hand, do you, Chuckles?” Varric asks. “I could sure use a drink.”

 

“Alas…” Solas murmurs, looking captivated and stricken at the same time.

 

“There are venetori there….you find demons and rifts too. You find a huge door with special marks… if you kill some members of venetori, you find bits of the keys that open this door.” Amy sinces. “Also...the sky is...green. The rift has swallowed the word, and there are demons everywhere.”

 

Sam, along with everyone else, blanches. “Without you.. And the Inquisition to oppose him… the Elder one succeeded.” Amy said, her voice sounding so much smaller and more fragile, even in her own ears. “Tore the veil to shreds and destroyed the world…” She winces. “In both scenarios… you will find out that there was a plot to kill Empress Celene... and that a demon army marched on the south.”

 

“This...is starting to sound a little _much_.” Vivienne murmured, as delicately as she could manage.

 

Amy didn’t acknowledge her words….mostly because she couldn’t give her account of this and denounce Vivienne’s claims at the same time… She would not be drawn into an argument when they needed to prepare...this was too important.

 

But also, because she knew Vivienne’s worst fear was irrelevance. And as long as Viviene was willing to tow the line, Amy could be courteous….however, the minute she began playing games, Amy would do everything in her power to make Vivienne feel the weight of that fear, that weakness.

 

“When you finally get to Alexius...you see that his son is a withered husk. Suffering blight sickness.”

 

“Oh Maker.” Sam said, shifting in his seat. Antsy, and in too deep perhaps, but Amy was doing everything to rip this off like a band-aid.

 

“You eventually fight and kill Alexius. And Dorian figures out how to… send you back.” Amy takes a deep breath. “Alexius falls into your custody...and the monarch of Ferelden arrives to banish the Mages from Ferelden… you… make them an offer they cannot refuse.”

 

“And that gains us the Mages’s cooperation.” Sam concludes.

 

Amy nods. “Either will close the breech. Mages. Or Templars. But… after you close the breech, the night of your return, the Elder One comes with his army to Haven. To kill you. To kill everyone in Haven.”

 

Because this room didn’t have enough people with grim expressions.

 

“Depending on who you choose….will determine who you face.” Amy said. “If you choose Mages… you face Red Templars...if you choose Templars, you face mind-controlled mages and Venetori.”

 

There were several moments of silence.

 

And then Cullen cleared his throat, eyeing the table and the pieces on it. “Now… I assume that...this elder one is attempting to get both of them.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“So, that means any actions we make towards one will single his minions to move forward with the other group…” Amy blinked at this and then nodded. It was a fair assumption. “Which means… a coordinated attack would be our best option.”

 

“What are you thinking, Cullen?” Cassandra asked, still grasping at hope.

 

“You didn’t mention anything about Caer Oswin.” Cullen said. “I would like to hear about that first.”

 

Amy felt herself tremble. It was… well. All of it was so much, but this. Seekers turning on Seekers and doing such despicable things?

 

She took a deep breath. “Lord Seeker breaks other Seekers… one at a time. Tries to experiment….” She shakes her head.

 

“But he only has a few people there, because they’re dealing with the Seekers that remain on an individual basis.” Cullen says, but it sounds more like a question.

 

“Yes. One at a time.” Amy confirms.

 

“Would it be possible for Cassandra to lead a team there and stop them?” Cullen asks. “If she does this as soon as possible, there’s a chance she can bring the real Lord Seeker to Therinfall Redoubt.”

 

“Or ‘is ruddy big head.” Sera grumbled.

 

“Which will force the templars to question who they are taking orders from.” Josephine murmured, light seeming to shine from her eyes.

 

“Quite.” Cullen says, before continuing quickly. “If we can coordinate our efforts so that Sam’s team is entering Redcliffe around the same time that Cassandra’s team approaches Therinfall, they will have no means to communicate and take the other option.”

 

There was a beat of silence before Bull grunted. “Fuck yea, I’m in on that.” He smirked wolfishly. “See if we can’t take this bastard’s kneecaps out before he gets himself upright.”

 

“What about that army of his?” Blackwall asked. “I’m assuming he’ll be coming even if we foil his plans at pawns.”

 

“Has other plans.” Amy said shaking his head.

 

“Amy?” Solas called. Amy looked to Solas, blinking at him as though dazed. He looked down to the last marker in her hands. Her eyes returned to his....and he nodded.

 

Amy tried to regulate her breathing, to keep from panting. She reached up (thank goodness the Frostbacks were close), and placed a marker as close to where Skyhold may be as she could figure. She looked to Solas, and he nudged the marker just a touch and smiled.

 

...She didn’t entirely like the way his approval tickled her near to giddy.

 

“Here...is where the Inquisition will grow.” Amy informed. “Sky. Hold.”

 

“I’ve never heard of such a place.” Cullen murmured.

 

“Old Avvar hold.” Amy murmured. “A ruin before that.” she sighed. “Touches the sky here atop the Frostbacks.” she eyed Cullen. “If...we are discreet… can move. Our people...before the army. Is here.”

 

“I was uncertain about it as well.” Solas said. “When Amy mentioned the name to me, she only had a vague idea of where it could be.” He continued to explain. “Through my explorations in the Fade—” wow. It appeared that ‘the Fade’ was a serious trigger word. Bull’s eye narrowed, Sera shifted, and Vivienne glowered. Fascinating.. “—I have been able to find it.” He smiled. “And it is magnificent.”

 

Cullen was staring at the marker on the map, the wheels in his head turning.

 

“Can we do this?” Josephine asked, breathless from.. What? Anticipation? Fear? _All_ of the feelings?

 

Cullen was still staring at the marker on the map, but his lips twitched as a smile tugged just at the corner of his mouth. That made Leliana smirk.

 

“I think we are capable, now that we know our enemy’s goals we have a real chance at securing our position.” She took a moment to trade a look with Cullen, who was nodding in her general direction.

 

“We need more time to plan,” Solas was saying. “But there is no reason that we cannot devise a sound strategy to counter his every move.”

 

“We do have quite a few things to hammer out.” Cullen murmured, and Josephine rolled her eyes, though she was still smiling in an almost indulgent manner.

 

Amy felt the weight of their gazes even moreso than the weight of exhaustion.

 

“Only know what could be.. Not what will be.” Amy said. “I can.. Can only help so much.”

 

“What you know is invaluable.” Cullen said in a tone so adamant it somehow reinforced her spine.

 

But Amy could not hold it. His reassurance, as well as the consolidated gazes of those around the tables, it was all was invigorating, reinforcing, and...it could not last. She had no more stamina left. Her reserves were just gone.

 

“Amy?” This came from Solas who had stood in a need to accomplish something, though Siheta and Magpie were also patting at her. Siheta’s hand against the small of her back, Magpie brushing her hair back and attempting to lift her head up.

 

“I think it would be best if we left Amy to her rest.” Leliana said, rising. “She has given us as much as she can for now.”

 

Nearly everyone shot up like bottle rockets. Bull, Cullen, Varric, and Blackwall practically fled… Amy wondered if it was a sort of chivalry. Make yourself scarce when a lady is vulnerable and in need of tending you cannot provide...or something like that. Sera wasn’t far behind them, half skipping out to keep up with them.

 

Josephine and Vivienne rose, elegant without having to even think about it. They wafted from the room like dandelion seeds on the wind..

 

Leliana surveyed those leaving as they left before turning back to Amy. “Thank you again for this… Cullen is right. You are invaluable to our cause.”

 

“There’s more..” Amy said, fighting hard to keep her eyes open. “So much more.”

 

“I have no doubt. But it can wait until you are better.” Leliana breezed. “For now, we can begin to make plans with what you have given us.”

 

“Telanadas.” Amy murmured, too drowsy for words. It made them all stop and stare, as it wasn’t part of anything that she had mentioned before. She half smiled in a delirious sort of way.  “Remember her name...and hope.”

 

“That’s elven.” Magpie notes, a breath of wonder and a hint of concern.

 

“Indeed… it means ‘nothing is inevitable’.” Solas translates.

 

Leliana smiles softly. “That… is more encouraging than I had expected.”

 

“One thing _is_ inevitable.” Siheta murmurs, and helps to lay Amy down. “She’s out.” The room seemed to heave a collective sigh of relief when Amy relaxed against the bed, breathing deep and evenly. “Like…” Siheta trailed off, smirking at Amy as she absently picked up her feet to put the woman into a more laying-down type position. “She is _out_ out.”

 

“Good.” Solas said with a smile. “She’s in desperate need of rest to heal, and she’s such a stubborn sort. At least this way, we won’t have to negotiate with her.”

 

Leliana sighed. “Agreed...there’s still much to discuss…” She lingered only a moment longer before collecting herself. “I will leave her in your capable hands.” she said with a nod before leaving.

 

Siheta was trying to situate Amy’s legs under the covers as smoothly as she could manage to avoid pain. She didn’t see the way both Solas and Magpie watched Leliana leave, only to exchange a look that was worried and wary… or some variation of that generally uneasy sentiment.


	24. Role Models: Shrews & Hutslayers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a long rest, Amy decides to stretch her legs...and ends up finding out that things are changing. Now she has to figure out how best to adapt to those changes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *looks around* hey guys.
> 
> Life really kicked me in the teeth :| I started writing this ages ago, but...I don’t know, it just seems like everything was stacked against me. I’m ok, so don’t be concerned... 2016 has just sucked so much... There were projects, finals, health problems, traveling, and computer failures. That’s not even touching all these horrible deaths, either. 
> 
> But, you live and learn , right? Or, at least you do what you can. Let's just say, I'm now using my google drive to keep my writing all backed up, because my laptop is ready to fall apart and crawl away. Nearly losing all of one's writing is amazingly discouraging, so I'd encourage all of you to back up to google as well. I mean, it's free with a gmail, and google docs are easy to edit. But...you didn't come here for that =..= 
> 
> So, hope you guys enjoy the new chapter :) It’s a long one...but, that’s starting to be a trend.
> 
> Anyway, prompts, links, and tidbits are always available on my StrivingScribe tumblr. Hey :) If you like what I’m about, and you want to help me battle the indomitable will of the cosmos, you could totally follow my tumblr and heart some entries :3 That’d be cool of you.
> 
> And hey…thanks :)

The metal seemed especially cold in her hand...most likely because she still couldn’t find her gloves. Still, she was _done_ with sitting on her laurels and being fawned over.

She was too late for actual feeding, but she had a mission.

The second she laid eyes on her horse, Amy could’ve wept with joy. For his part, Voltair seemed to be experiencing a similar, decidedly more horse-like version of excitement as he paced restlessly upon noticing her. He was practically trotting in place as she approached his stall.

“Hey, handsome.” Her voice sounded soft even in her own ears as she drew closer to his stall.

He finally stood still long enough for her to embrace his entire face (well, his head really) as he careened over the fence. His deep, gusty breaths filtered around her, somehow providing a sense of warmth...though Amy assumed that had to be psychosomatic.

“Before you came into my life, I missed you so bad.” she sang, scratching along the the column of his neck in a matching rhythm to the beat.  “I missed you so bad… and you should know that, I missed you so bad.” It was so amusing that if she bobbed up and down he would bob his neck as well.

She finally dodged a bit to the side… It felt like a monumental task to heft herself up just one rung on the fencing of his stall. It was ridiculous as it was a simple three slat stall…. Nothing too difficult.

It had been four days since her injury… Four days of Solas, Magpie, Siheta, (occasionally Elossa, and Bax) and oddly enough even Wystan hovered in shifts about her.

She crested the top of the stall and just sat for a moment, astride the top-most slat. Voltair chewed absently on the excess tail of her ‘mullet dress’. She took that as a show of support. Sweet thing.

With another breath, she swung herself down into his stall...and instantly froze, regretting her decisions. She could do little more than breathe through the pain in her side, an achy reminder that she wasn’t quite at 100%. Luckily, Voltair was there to lean on.

“Now…” she said, hoping she didn’t sound like she was out of breath. “Let’s see about your hooves, love.”

Like always, she let her hand skim from his withers down the point of his shoulder and along the back of his leg. And, like always, he picked up his hoof, allowing her to take it easily.

It felt like it had been forever since they’d last done this.

Solas had assumed the position of the brain of their group, deciding on the best routes for healing...It wasn’t that she wasn’t grateful, but… Solas (ever the Fade-lover) prescribed little more than sleep.

Magpie and Siheta were the worker bees.. Though Siheta was decidedly less energetic. After two days, Siheta seemed to understand Amy’s growing ire and found other places to be. She checked in still, but wasn’t present at all times. Magpie never left Amy’s side...which was...ok. But...well...

The most embarrassing thing had been having to talk Magpie out of helping her in the privy. Helping her _to_ the privy was fine...but _in_ the privy was just. too much.

One hoof down, Amy proceeded to the back right hoof. For the most part, this was just a trust ritual. There wasn’t much that a horse could get hurt without here… sure there were rocks, but they mostly got frozen in the frozen mud and ice….

So, she didn’t really have to worry about anything other than detritus or sloshy mud sticking to the bottom of his hooves...still, it was an exercise in trust and helped with bonding.

“Well I’m stubborn and wrong, but at least I know it.” she sang, as was her habit. “I keep moving along until I get through this. But maybe this song is the best I can do it. So I’m. Patiently. Waiting on these!”

That hoof was clean, so she moved to his other side, twirling a bit as she sang. “Heroes and thieves at my door. I can’t seem to tell them apart anymore. Just when I figured it out… well, Darlin’ it’s you, Darlin’s it’s you. Oh, Darlin’ it’s you I’m without.”

His back hooves were remarkably clean. That much was good at least.

“Well, it seems like I’m getting closer somehow…” She murmured softly, moving around to his front left hoof. “A flicker of peace that I’ve finally found. Thank you for beleive in me now...cause I do need it.” She smiled brightly, hooking the hoof pick onto a belt loop and unhooking the curry and bristle brush.

She felt weakness sap her arms as she stirred to curry comb his side. Still, she was adamant this needed to happen. “Well, give me a year or two,” she tried to soldier on, through this ritual and through the song. “ and I’ll mend my ways and see these mistakes. And when I see the truth, well.. Darlin’ trust me, when I can’t see—”

“Maker’s Balls!” Blackwalls exclamation interrupted. “The blazes are you doing up and about?”

“Horse.” Amy said, and Blackwall closed his eyes and bowed his head, and for a moment Amy thought perhaps he was praying.

“I can _see_ that.” he grumbled. He looked her up and down critically. “Do they know you’re here?”

“They?”

“Don’t you try and play innocent with me, girl.” Blackwall grumbled. Amy stopped what she was doing, stared at him and arched an eyebrow… she couldn’t help but wonder exactly which of them was playing innocent more so than the other here. “Solas and Magpie, the ones that’ve been looking after you for the last three days.”

“Four.”

“Four days!” He sighed, shaking his head. “If you’ve somehow given them the slip or tricked them out of keeping an eye on you, it’s just not right.”

Amy stood very still, maintaining her stare at Blackwall. Now, though, her eyes had taken a bit of a warning glare.

“ _You_.” she began firmly. “Ehn-tend to lek shure _me_ ” her eyes narrowed. “..on deceee-ving uhthers?”

Blackwall’s stance stiffened slightly. His face blanked (a defense?), but his eyes rounded and for a few seconds there, it seemed as though he was holding his breath. Finally, he looked away, clearing his throat in thunderous contrast to the settling silence.

Amy went back to brushing Voltaire’s flank, ignoring him with a coolness that seemed almost foreign on her. A laughable mimicry of her mother...maybe she would’ve been proud of the attempt.

She could see her mother’s face now, her brow softening, her eyes sympathetic and amused, and the tiniest smile… Her mother _could_ be warm, you just had to be looking for it. Bridget McMannus’s warmth was the barest blush of Spring, with a lingering chill of winter still in the air...full of intention and promise.

Amy clenched her jaw, drawing herself out of those rose-colored memories as viciously as she could.

She had no time for them or the bereft yearning that accompanied them. She needed firmer motivation right now…

She was having no luck with the curry comb. Her upper body strength was still shot… that, or she’d tired herself out so much getting here, that she had no reserves to tap into.

Blackwall was rallying, or attempting to. “...I only meant that… that you might not be well, and they might be worried.” He said, still not able to look in her general direction.

“Go ‘en. Get’em if y’wan.” Amy shrugged and regretted it, but managed to keep her face straight in spite of the pain. “I tell’em what I tell you. Can’t sleep awhlll the time. Need strk-ture.”

There was another long pause as she continued to brush Voltaire and he considered her words.

“So..I could just tell them that, then.” Blackwall murmured.

...if that was supposed to be a threat, it was  _very_ poorly constructed.

“That’s not necessary.” Siheta’s voice was at once startling and grounding. She sauntered into the stables, giving a nod of respect to Blackwall before turning and leaning back against Voltaire's stall. “Though, if you’re dead set on contributing to the situation, I estimate that Solas will be mentally pitching a fit in approximately 17 seconds.”

Blackwall gave a half chuckle. “I’ve done more for less.” he grunted almost in appreciation before turning to leave.

Once he was out of earshot, Siheta murmured. “Of course, nothing's gonna stop Magpie from darting over here with all haste.”

She had better results than the weather channel at least, as Magpie did, in fact, dash into the stables before halting and panting not but three feet from Siheta.

“Breathe, woman.” Siheta advised, unnecessarily.

“Really.” Magpie huffed. “Amy.” another huff. “Fake napping??” She finally careened upward, standing upright and struggling to straighten a crick out of her bent spine. “Can’t even trust the weary to sleep!”

Amy let a series of breathy giggles out of her nose...though it sounded more like a very tame version of Muttley laugh.

“I told you she’d make a break for it.” Siheta said, shaking her head. The woman seemed completely nonplused by the entire event.

Voltaire dipped his head and nudged Amy with his side. Amy couldn’t help but wonder if he was trying to get her to mount up. She huddled close to his neck, scratching affectionately at that spot at the base of his mane. “Can’t.” She murmured softly.

Solas, it turned out, was not far behind Magpie. Though he entered the stables with much less bluster, it was evident by the grim set of his mouth that he was ‘seriously displeased’. However, he simply stopped in front of Siheta and Magpie and said nothing, glaring ahead and looking at no one.

Amy figured the jig was up and her outing was officially over at this point… She had done what she came to do, so it wasn’t a total loss. Giving Voltair one final pat, she moved to exit his stall. The horse seemed confused that she was actually using the gate instead of climbing over the wall, but she wasn’t fooled about her capabilities and exactly how tired she was.

“You should have been resting.” Solas scolded, his voice a dreary monotone.

“ _You_ rest.” Amy grumbled.

A soft sigh sifted from Solas’s lips. “Amy.” He said firmly and yet at the same time with the gentleness one dons when dealing with someone who has taken a hostage, but is cornered. You hear that shit on _Criminal Minds_ all the time. “You will not heal properly if you do. Not. rest.”

Amy ground her teeth, but was saved from the trouble of replying when Siheta said, “I disagree.” Magpie’s eyes doubled and Solas’s attention snapped to Siheta. “An injured muscle that rests for too long will atrophy.” She reasoned with a simple shrug. “Moderation and observation are necessary at this stage. Even if Amy were to reach her limit, she’ll be fine if we’re there to help her.”

“Why am I not surprised you’re advocating for observation?” Solas grumbled, his eyes narrowing. “Do you need more evidence for your experimentations?”

“What?” Magpie breathed, looking between the two of them.

“S’hita ‘esper’ments as she obzervs me.” Amy murmured, leaning back against Voltaire’s stall. The horse swung his head over the fencing, hovering over Amy’s torso. Amy smiled, wrapping her hands around his soft nose and scratching softly when his lips moved to noble at her fingers.

Now Solas’s eyes snapped to her. “You’re aware?” He asked, somewhat taken back.  

Amy blinked at him owlishly. “We tahlk.” she said.

Siheta crossed her arms over her chest, leaning back slightly. “It’s not as if we haven’t discussed it between us.” Siheta defended. “And my ‘experiments’ are relatively invasive. It mostly boils down to observation.”

Solas’s eyes widened in outrage. “Observation!” He seethed.

Siheta’s eyes closed, her head tilting to the side as her shoulders relaxed. “Why am I not surprised that you dislike anyone but yourself having a hand in—”

“I beg your pardon.” Solas growled. “What are you implying exactly?”

Amy blinked rapidly, looking a touch concerned between the two of them.

...what exactly were they fighting about?

Siheta drew herself up tall, looming over Solas as any of her race could—unfair considering as she really had to do was stand up.

But something was different. Something...had changed.

It was subtle, but anyone who’d been paying attention would probably see it. Not exactly what it was, but the fact that there was a difference was obvious.

It was something in the light… they were in shade here. Yet Siheta’s skin was well lit as she glared down as Solas, her eyes more vivid and brighter, and terrible in how impossible sharp they were as she glared down at Solas.

“You aren’t the only one with eyes, little Pride.” she said, and it wasn’t her voice alone. There was…. It was like listening to a Turian talk and noticing their sub-vocals.

And now it was something in Solas’s face that was changing. Not in the light as it had with Siheta, but in his expression. A strange sort of hunger paired with dawning recognition.

“You are…not alone.” he trailed off, his eyes darting.

“Good to see those ears are not decorations.” Siheta muttered, the sub-vocal stronger, deeper, more masculine.

She closed her eyes and reopened them, and Amy felt herself release a breath as she noticed they were back to ‘normal’.

Before either of them said anything more, Magpie inserted herself between them, facing Amy. “Look. I don’t care about your pride.” She said, glancing to her right at Solas. “Or your experiments.” She said to Siheta at her left. “Cuz that’s not what I’m here for.”

She reached out and took Amy’s hand. “Come on. If you’re really determined to stretch your legs, we can make a pitstop at the tavern.” She soothed before fighting off a smirk. She took Amy’s arm and wrapped it under her own, walking companionably with her while lending her a bit of support to lean on. “But then it’s straight back to your bed, missy.” she chided almost playfully, gripping Amy’s captured hand in both of hers.

“This isn’t the most appropriate place for this discussion.” Solas murmured, as the two women drew out of the stables. “We’ll return to our quarters and wait for you there.”

“You can do what you want, but don’t feel the need to wait up.” Magpie said, but didn’t slow her pace or stop. She just kept walking towards the tavern. Once they were both inside and the door had been shut she sighed. “Those two. The passive aggressive feuding has been way too intense for my taste.”

“Cold war?”

Magpie blinked as Amy sat in one of the empty chairs. The one nearest to the fireplace.  “That’s a great term for it, actually.” she said with a grin. “In any case, if there are issues, they should just come out and say it so that they can deal with it and get it over with.” she said, sitting across from Amy.

“Have they… been fightin’?”

Magpie half shrugged, a careless gesture that seemed out of place considering how invested she seemed in the affair. “Not openly, but… there’s this feeling. It goes beyond antagonism.” She shook her head. “I give the old man grief now and then, but it’s never because I disagree with him about anything in particular or I’m mad at him. If that happens, I just come out and say it.” Magpie’s eyes narrowed. “Siheta acts like she doesn’t trust Solas. The way she acted around the soldiers before… I asked why, and she tried to play it off.” Magpie shrugged.

Amy had to wonder about that as well. She, like Magpie, wasn’t entirely sure what prompted Siheta and Solas to be on each others’ bad sides. The entire thing seemed counter intuitive. If anything...they would understand each other best, wouldn't they?

Or maybe she just assumed that because she associated Siheta so closely with Cole, and Solas often offered guidance and tolerance to Cole.

Magpie rose and slinked behind the bar, foraging for something—hopefully it would be something paired with booze.

It was then that Amy realized that neither Solas nor Siheta had her advantage… and Amy was rather tight-lipped on personal knowledge. She wasn’t about to tell Solas what she knew about Siheta, or vice-versa. That meant the two would probably be circling each other and snarling until they could figure it out for themselves….Seheron could be cast in bronze while the Tevinter Imperium fell into the sea before that could happen.

“Oooh, promising!” Magpie cooed after pulling out a small hunk of meat and cheese.

Amy blinked rapidly. “Where…?”

“Oh, Flissa’s been keeping vittles stocked in hidden caches since she and Adan decided to make preserves of that remedy elixir of yours.”

Now Amy was staring blankly as Magpie fished out a small knife from someplace on her person and began slicing the meat. “See, Adan and Flissa had been kicking around the idea of stockpiling the remedy, but once you had your accident, they decided to deploy those ideas.” Magpie reeled back, her eyes rolling heavenward as she sigh heavily. “Those two are so cute it’s disgusting, by the way. I fully blame you for that.”

Amy’s mouth dropped open. “Adan and Flissa??” she heard the pitch of her voice waver, climbing at least an octave higher. When Magpie grinned and nodded, Amy squealed and clapped her hands. “Yessss.” she hissed happily.

It was then, while Magpie worked to lay slices of cheese over bits of meat, that Bull, Krem, and Varric walked in.

“What’s this?” Varric asked, while Bull’s eye narrowed.

“Oi.” Krem grunted. “You good for bein’ up and around there, Charmer?”

Amy smiled. “Naaah… but, when’s that stop me?” she asked. Varric chortled softly, sitting at her left. Bull and Krem exchanged a glance before sitting on the right side of the table, but leaving room for Magpie to sit next to her.

“Yea, we’re just letting our girl stretch her legs a bit.” Magpie said, bringing over a plate with the stacks of meat and cheese.

“You know what would make this snack better?” Varric asked, reaching for the bag he had attached to his hip. After fishing about in there for a second, he pulled out a shiny red apple. Amy stared at it as if he’d just put the crown jewels on the table. It had been ages since she’d seen a fruit, much less gotten to eat one.

“Oh, yea!” Magpie said, sitting beside Amy and reaching for the apple. “This’ll go great with the cheese.”

Amy continued to play it cool, but she was a little shocked at how excited she was at the prospect of this food. Of course, she hadn’t been enthusiastic about food in a while. It wasn’t that she was too proud for porridge, hardtack, gruel, and Ferelden stew stretched thin to satisfy so many workers...she just couldn’t be excited about it anymore.

“You’re really good with that knife, there.” Krem observed, and Amy had to agree. Magpie was managing to slice the apple up into very thin slices to spread among them with deft precision.

Magpie grinned. “Yeah, I may not be the best hunter, or fighter, or...well..anything, I guess.” She said with a shrug. “But when it comes to meal making? Oh yea….the hearth is my bitch.” She preened, pushing the full plate in front of Amy.

Amy looked at the plate, now full of food, and then to Varric. “What?” He asked.

“Not awl mine.”

“You’re honestly waiting on _us_?” Bull asked, a breathy chuckle shaking his frame. Krem was shaking his head too.

“Wot?” she croaked, defensive.

“I can always get more apples, Charmer.” Varric soothed, nudging the plate closer to her.

“Besides,” Magpie began. “You didn’t eat breakfast, and you’re little trip to the stables probably ate a lot of your strength. You probably _could_ eat that.”

...that was true, but that was also very selfish.

“You’re going to eat it.” Bull said, trying his best to sound menacing. “Or I’ll find something else to fit in that pretty mouth.”

Amy instantly glared at him. “Come on an try it, bitch.” she bit out with surprising veracity, making Krem laugh out loud.

“Oh.” He half whimpered. “That’s a show down I wouldn’t mind seeing…. Again.”

Amy stacked an apple slice with some cheese and—merciful savior, it was pork. How in the nine hells had they managed to preserve pork!... then again, it was colder than Satan’s armpit outside. And there were a lot of mages around…

She never really thought about food preservation in Thedas, but now that she was thinking about it… it just seemed really lame to wiggle her fingers and say ‘magic, yo’, but that probably had a lot to do with it. That, and...well, they were in the ass-end of the Frostbacks...so,00 the cold.

Amy half moaned as the savory flavor of the pork paired with the sharpness of the cheese was sweetened by the tender fruit. She had often eaten apple slices and gouda cheese together, but she’d never paired it with meat before….and she probably needed all the protein she could get at this point.

“I like a woman that enjoys her food.” Bull murmured, his entire manner changed from his previous ‘enforcer’ persona. It was good to see it gone, as Amy had enough people bossing her about with Solas and Magpie. Though Magpie was more concerned big-sis and Solas was all Captain Von Trapp with the restrictions. “Surprised to see you in the tavern at all, considering…” Bull’s voice trailed off, and while Amy had no idea what he was talking about, she was too busy enjoying food to ask.

“Ah..” Magpie cleared her throat. “No one has actually...discussed recent events… as of yet.” she said with obvious reluctance.

Amy paused her chewing for a few seconds, then continued making a somewhat muffled, “Hmmm?” inquiry.

Magpie gave her an apologetic look before elaborating. “You see… after the meeting we had together—”

“When you spilled your guts in front of everyone.” Bull clarified, as if he needed to.

“—The terrible trio, plus Sam decided to...enact a few changes. Mostly in titles and some in policy.”

Amy blinked, piling up another mouthful slowly and waiting for Magpie to continue. She’d started, so chances were she was going to more thoroughly explain what those vague words entailed.

“We were going to tell you. I want that on the record.” Magpie said, patting the table as if it were the record. “I just… I wanted to make sure you were...well, stronger. In case you felt that one of the decisions was…...well—”

“Wrong?” Bull offered.

“Stupid?” Krem chimed in.

“Overbearing?” Varric had to take his turn, didn’t he?

“Unnecessary.” Magpie finished.

Amy slouched, enjoying the way it allowed her muscles to relax. She made another “Mhmmm” noise, but it sounded more like a ‘get on with it’ than an ‘I understand’.

Magpie nodded. “Well, everyone had to have their say, and what they all came to was that they wanted to make certain that you were protected. Cullen and Leliana were mostly concerned with your safety—Leliana with the particulars of preserving your knowledge, of course. Josephine was concerned about the perceptions surrounding you. So… I suppose what it comes down to...is that you have an elevated status. You’re more of an advisor now, instead of just a delegate between the groups, and...uh...well.”

“They don’t want you on the field or in the tavern anymore.” Bull said, never the sort to shy away from a battering ram technique.

Amy paused mid-chew as that settled in.

“It’s just!” Magpie tried to swoop in.

“Smooth, Chief.” Krem grumbled quietly out the side of his mouth, and Bull shrugged in that ‘what!’ way that people do when they’ve missed a social cue and have no idea how this is their fault.

Of course, Bull did know what he’d done.

“Think of it this way, you’re probably going to get a nice office out of this in the chantry.” Varric said. “And you’ll have to deal with us rabble less.”

“It’s just that… well, Cullen’s cracking down on the soldiers, and Leliana’s really cracking down on security, on her end that is. And Josephine is more aware of your reputation, and she… she really doesn’t know how she can work with ‘tavern wench’ in your job description.” Magpie hurriedly explained. “So, it’s not like they’re punishing you or anything. They’re not mad at you at all!”

Amy blinked and resumed chewing.

Well… of course.

She took a deep breath through her nose and let it out, swallowing her present mouthful.

“Oh.” She said, her voice sounding soft and small.

“... ‘oh’?” Varric prodded. “That’s it?”

Amy shrugged, and then winced. She went about the motions of stacking some ham between cheese slices. “ ‘S’how it works, yeh?” she said simply, eyeing the food. “People...in charge… make deh... deah-cisss-yons.” She shook her head. “Hafta trust ‘em.” she murmured before taking a bite of the ham and cheese.

“Wow.” Krem murmured. “I did not expect that.”

“Yeah..” Bull grunted. “Me neither.” He eyed Amy suspiciously. “I thought you’d be madder than a wet hornet.”

Amy’s gaze sharpened, and Bull’s eyebrows rose in surprise when she pinned him with her sharp gray-green eyes. “Oh. I’m nawht mad. I’m _pissed_.” She hissed through clenched teeth. She did perhaps take serious satisfaction with tearing into her cheesy ham not-sandwich, grinding the morsel between her molars.

The table was mostly silent, with Krem visibly biting his lip, Bull not moving a muscle and Varric’s eyes darting between everyone. Magpie seemed safe as she patted Amy’s shoulder sympathetically.

“I know.” Magpie said.

“If thhey’d just ahsked!”

Magpie nodded. “I know.”

Amy shook her head, taking another bite off the plate and damn near swallowing it whole. Of course, that made her feel terribly guilty. Half of the point of taking her time to eat this food was...well, she was a little tuckered out, but the fury had given her a bit of rejuvenation. But mostly because it tasted _really_ good, and it was a shame to waste it.

“You know there’s more to you than just this tavern, right?” Bull ventured, careful and gentle.

Amy just ate and breathed quietly, staring down at the table in her most glum impersonation of Eeyore. “I knooow.” she droned. It was so spot on, she half wanted to murmur ‘thanks for noticing me’, but that joke would be lost on this crowd.

“I’m serious.” Bull said, tipping his head down so that he could catch her eyes. “What they’re doing… I mean, yeah, you probably hate how it’s being done, but…”

“I knooow.” Amy snapped. She sat back a little, sighing. “Know _why_.” she muttered. “But… like the tahvern. Like to spend time here with you guys.” she continued, her tone rising to something that was less whiny and more natural. “An’ I like tha field. Don’t want… don’t want soldiers an mages to think…” She shook her head.

“They won’t think that you’re upset with them, Amy.” Magpie comforted as best she could. “They do think that you’ve been hurt and you need to recuperate.”

“They’re ours.” Amy insisted. “ _Our_ Mages. _Our_ Soldiers.” She tried to steel herself, bringing her hands up and resting on the table palms-up as she rotated her shoulders a bit. She could feel the muscles around her shoulder blades relax a bit. “Dohnt want them… to think I’m frihi… frite-tend or mahhd.”

“They won’t.”

“Well. The soldiers won’t. Curly won’t give them more than five seconds to squeeze together, I’m pretty sure none of them have the energy to think.” Varric said with a huffy laugh before realizing that his statement had not helped in the least.

“And even with this new titled that the big-wigs want to give you, there’s nothing that says that you can’t come to the tavern. They just don’t want you _working_ here.” she grinned.

Amy half smiled at that. It was true, she supposed. Perhaps there was more clout with being a tavern-goer as opposed to a tavern wench.

“As for the rest… I’m sure we can figure it out.” Magpie said. Amy half snickered, remembering a well-loved cartoon she had watched together with Conner. “The rules that can’t be broken can surely be bent.” Magpie said, in a startlingly similar rendition of exactly what Amy had been thinking of.

She tried not to think about it too much, because there was already so much to think about...

Amy shook her head. “No. Can’t say… I rehspekt our leaders… if I am… con-stant-ly suhb-ver-ting them.”

Magpie gave her a look. “Amy. What was it you said about being civil while disobeying authority?”

Amy blinked. “Civil disobedience becomes a sacred duty when the state becomes lawless or corrupt?” It was Amy’s turn to give Magpie a look. “They...are hardly corrupt.”

“Give ‘em time.” Varric chimed in.

“Same man said… The weak can never forgive. Forgiveness is the attribute of the strong.” Amy took a deep breath, trying to remember Mahatma Gandhi’s words. “Anger is the enemy of non-violence and pride is a monster that swallows it up.” she closed her eyes as she continued reciting. “In a gentle way, you can shake the world.” She took another deep inhale through her nose before releasing it. “Strength does not come from physical capacity. It comes from an indomitable will.” She murmured. Finally, she opened her eyes. “Nobody can hurt me without my permission.”

There were a few seconds in which no one did anything. They simply observed Amy and occasionally looked at each other.

Amy smacked the table. “Fuck.” She grunted. “M’still mahd!” she said before slouching and stuffing another few slices of food in her mouth.

Varric chuckled, which somehow broke the tension. Even Amy shook her head, a little amused at her ludicrous behavior. It was enough to edge out the sting at least.

“Well, look at it this way. You’ve got some time to rally your strength before anyone officially broaches the subject.” Magpie murmured. “You can actually think of all the things you want to say!”

Varric laughed out loud. “Oh, please let it be Curly that breaks the news to you.”

“And please let us be around to see it.” Bull added.

“Fuck you.” Amy grumbled.

“We have to wait until your well, Charmer.” Bull reminded in a particularly smarmy fashion.

Dalish, Grim, and Skinner made an entrance at this point.

“Oh, I didn’t know we were having a party here.” Skinner said, sitting between Krem and Bull.

“Ok, no one can tell anyone that Amy was here.” Magpie murmured in as hushed a tone as she could manage while still grinning like a loon.

The door opened, and Siheta breezed in, removing her cloak and hanging it up while making herself at home behind the counter. That seemed to be a common occurrence lately, but as no one else was remarking on it, Amy did little else aside from watching the mage do it.

“Naturally.” Skinner grunted, reaching forward and snatching a slice of apple off Amy’s plate. Amy blinked, her attention now back on the table as Skinner’s movements caught on the corner of her eyes.

“Oi.” Krem’s voice seemed much too deep for him to be saying something like ‘oi’…but, there you have it. “That’s for Charmer.”

Amy waved away his concern. “oh, nah…” she said shaking her head. “M’full.”

“That’s too bad.” Siheta said from her spot behind the counter. “I was about to ask if you’d like a little something to drink.”

“Separate…stomach. For that.” Amy said, her voice high in the manner some children have to portray innocence.

Siheta smirked. “Indeed. What’ll it be? Beer or whiskey?”

Amy shook her head. “Ale.” She requested.

“Ale?” Bull prodded. “You never drink ale.”

“S’needed.” Amy murmured. “Brandy for headaches,” She began reciting. “Whiskey for teeth, port for stomach aches, red wine for the heart, vodka for hunger, rum for memory, _ale_ for exhaustion, mead for depression, gin for broken bones, and beer—”

“—for living and breathing!” she and Magpie said at the same time. “I think I’ve heard an adage like that back with my clan.” She looked askant as she thought about it. “Though, I don’t think it was that extensive…”

“Oh. Which clan was that?” Dalish asked with the devil’s own smirk.

Amy snickered softly. “Clan Magpie.” Siheta smirked as she set a cup of ale at Amy’s right. She then busied herself behind the counter.

“Dread wolf’s eye teeth, no.” Magpie groaned at the ceiling. Of course, that was when Solas walked in. Of course. Though he only smirked at her expression, sitting apart from them as he usually did.

“What exactly did you do in your clan anyway, little bird?” Dalish asked, and Amy had to wonder why the sudden interest seemed so keen. Was it simply that Magpie hadn’t sat with Dalish before?

Magpie took a deep breath, exhaling in a huff. “Oh, nothing especially interesting. At most, I was a cook or a scout. A pretty decent one at that. But really, I wasn’t the go-to girl for any specific job. I did a lot of cooking and talking between our Keeper and clans folk.” She said with a shrug.

“You make it sound like that’s nothing.” Varric noted. “People and food are the most difficult things to deal with in all of Thedas, you know.”

Magpie’s mouth skewed sideways in a strange grimace. “My clan is… well, there are a lot of multitalented people back home. Having one decent skill is like saying you’re good enough, and good enough isn’t good enough.” She finished polishing the blade of her pocket knife, and sheathed it in her sleeve. “And I am _just_ that.”

Amy felt a touch offended, to the point that she realized how territorial she was over Magpie. It wasn’t as if anyone had gone out of their way to insult anyone… for that matter, it wasn’t entirely credible. Perhaps, clan Lavellan wasn’t as ‘multitalented’ as Magpie had said. Instead, it could be that Magpie felt that way because of some lack of self-confidence…

“Well that’s shitty.” Bill grunted.

Magpie only shrugged again. “I like it fine here. Sam and Cullen are remarkably straightforward, and amazingly thankful for what little help I can provide.” She nodded. “I like it when the bar is set real low.”

Varric smirked. “So… that’s who you answer to.”

Magpie chuckled. “I didn’t think it was a secret. It’s not like I’d throw myself on the Nightengale’s mercy.”

“Oh, I agree. Curly and Princess are damn good superiors.” Varric nodded. “It’s a safe play.”

“But that doesn’t stop you edging your way around the happenings of Haven.” Solas reminded, in full ‘Haren’ mode. It was like he thought he could school people by sounding like an elder or something…

“Well…yeah. I get by.” Magpie grumbled. “Any elf worth their salt can be a damn good spy. Most of the people around here don’t think twice about having us around because elves are seen as sub-standard members of society.” She said rolling her eyes. “It’s the self-defeating frustration that gets me. I mean, yeah. I get it. They think less of us, so we can use that to our advantage. But how can anyone be satisfied with being thought of as some sort of peon?” she shook her head. “It’s stupid.”

“Not stupid.” Amy murmured over the rim of her mug. “Makes sense.” Magpie blinked at her. “Because you.. you are not a bird, or a halla.” She smirked. “You are a wolf. And…” she sat her mug down and stared at Magpie. “Every wolf, no matter how or when, comes to the realization that it…is _not_ … a dog.”

Magpie had to smirk at that. “Huh. Well. I guess I can live with that.”

“Most Dalish don’t like wolves, though.” Dalish reminded.

“Not so.” Amy corrected. “Don’t like Dread _wolf_. Single.”

“That’s true. I’ve known clans that regarded wolves as pests, and some others who traveled with wolves instead of halla.” She shrugged. “It depends on the clan, really….though, all agree about being cautious of singular wolves.”

Amy took another sip of ale, her mouth puckering at the taste… it wasn’t necessarily bad…It just wasn’t whiskey. “Lone wolf is… usually something to… be wary of.” She felt like she’d slipped into lecture mode. “Wolves operate in packs. Well organized. Very efficient. If a wolf’s alone, herds don’t want that… because he is a predator. Other wolves are wary because… they couldn’t keep in their old pack.” She shrugged, and noticed momentarily that it wasn’t as painful as it had been earlier. Only tight. “Is logic.”

“Indeed.” Solas’s voice was almost clinical. It made Amy worry that the conversation was making him nervous…though, he didn’t appear nervous. Still.

“So… what else is… happening in Haven?” Amy asked, her attention fixed on Magpie.

The elf seemed to think that over before checking things off on her hand. “Well, I told you about the developments with the Remedy. We’ve gone over your new…ah…appointments, as it were.” She said, making a somewhat squeamish face. “Oh. Madame de Fer has tasked her seamstress with making you something more suitable to wear.”

“Well, thank the Maker for that.” Varric grumbled sarcastically.

Magpie halfhearted glared at him. “Right. That’s rich coming from you, Serah silken red shirt with gold faste ners--not buttons--with three undone on purpose for effect.”

“How many titles do you have?” Krem asked, but Varric only shook his head with a rueful chuckle. 

“I want an outfit like Siheta’s.” Amy said pointing to the woman in question. Siheta shimmied her hips, her traditional garb like the Quanari clothing with a few aesthetic differences. Instead of string or rope, her outfit was held together with thin bands of cloth, but essentially it was the same.

“Yes.” Bull said abruptly. “I mean.. .Uh… is that.. are we… is this something we can help fund?”

“But no trousers.” Amy elaborated. “Just the top and the skirt. Like Huttslayer Leia.”

Bull looked around expectantly. “I’m serious. Where’s the… Where can I contribute to this outfit’s creation?” Even Grim chuckled at that.

“Bull?” This came from Siheta. “Would you be kind enough to carry Amy back?” Bull was already standing to comply.

“ _Quoi_?”

“You need your rest, Amy. You’ve had an eventful day, and I’m fairly certain you’ve reached your limit.” Siheta reminded. Sometimes, it was really annoying when she knew the things that she knew. “I need to stay here, Solas needs to check in at the chantry, and Magpie needs to check back in with Cullen and Sam.” Magpie was nodding, albeit reluctantly. “Bull has little to occupy him, and certainly nothing he’d enjoy more than taking you to bed.”

“Ohhh.” Amy let out a breathy exhale. “Bad pun is bad.”

“I liked it.” Bull said with a chuckle. He was crouching now, and Amy simply leaned into his chest, allowing herself to be gathered up in his arms. This time, he carried her bride-groom style. It was both more comforting and a little nerve wracking.

“Mind your manners, Chief.” Krem reminded, his voice sounding an awful lot like that of a tattle tale. “Sam’ll skin you alive if—”

“I know, I know.” Bull grumbled, making his way outside. Bull’s gait was relaxed but nowhere near as slow as it had been when he’d carried her before. It wasn’t her new quarters were far away. Once inside, Bull stood in the middle of the room, still carrying her.

Amy didn’t bother asking why, she knew Bull would sort himself out eventually. She just stared at his face and waited.

“Look I… I know I fucked up.” He blurted with all the aplomb of an atom bomb.

“Eh?” Amy wasn’t exactly certain where this was coming from.

“I don’t think that… I mean, I’m not saying...” He took a deep breath, closing his eye and hanging his head. “I don’t think you’re crazy and I don’t think you’re a liar. I think you know what you say you know… not sure how, but I’d lay odds on that much.”

Amy reached up, halting his hasty words by laying a hand over his mouth. Finally! Some eye contact! It was hard enough to manage since he only had the one.

“M’not mad.” Amy murmured. She pointed vaguely to her injured side. “Per-spec-tive.”

He let out a single huff of laughter, and the hand against his mouth drifted absently, to caress the side of his face. She wondered why he was suddenly so worried. Even if there had been any lingering confusion from what had gone unsaid, it was obvious by how Bull carried her…. He always handled her as though she were something precious. So, even without saying the words, she knew...

“I guess… maybe I’m a little worried that, what with your new status and all, we’ll probably be drifting apart.” He confessed. “Wanted to make sure the air was clear before anything like that could happen.”

It was then that melancholy seeped into Amy. She was tired from all this activity after being so wrecked and having so little in the way of stimulation, sure. That was expected. But it suddenly hit her.

Cullen didn’t want her on the field.

Josephine didn’t want her in the tavern.

Leliana wanted her in the chantry.

At least, that’s what she assumed.

“Guess we’ll just have to work at it.” Bull grunted with a slow shrug.

Amy took a deep breath and tried to let it out nice and slow. She reminded herself that change was normal, and that even if things seemed depressing, they’d find a way to get through it.

Just like before, all of those words were great, but did nothing to lessen the severity of how much this all supremely sucked.

The door opened, and Bull turned to find Varric walking through.

“Setting up shop here, Tiny?” Varric asked before he shuffled over to his make-shift writing table. “It’s gonna start to get real crowded in here if you bring your Chargers for a slumber party.”

“Yeah...but it’d be fun.” Bull corrected with a smirk.

“Varric writes me ta sleep.” Amy said with a smirk.

Bull had to blink at that, looking between them.

Varric chuckled. “This _is_ about the time when Amy settles in for a nice long nap. We usually gab about whatever and then when she starts to drift off, while I write.”

Amy closed her eyes and whispered, ‘scritch-scritch-scritch-scritchity~scritch’.

“Huh… what are you writing?” Bull asked, sounding only a shade suspicious.

“Mostly letters, but it doesn’t hurt to take a few notes.” Varric said, eyeing Bull with a wicked smirk.

“Huh.”

“Learned that Hawke’s a goober.” Amy announced.

“Ha!” Varric laughed. “Yeah, we’ve talked about Hawke a lot. Though, Charmer tends to know about things before I even tell her about them.”

Instead of setting Amy on the bed, Bull opted to keep her in his arms, carrying her over to the bed and sitting down.

“You worried about being misrepresented or something?” Varric asked as he sat down.

“...well, I _am_ supposed to ask about your friend Isabela.”

“See? And I still can’t tell if you’re shitting me!” Varric nearly exploded before plopping down in his chair.

Amy chuckled and burrowed against Bull’s chest. Varric was right; normally, Amy would be laying down for a nap right now. But she was more than content to just remain here, and keep talking with them.

She had to start rebuilding her endurance, and she wasn’t content to leave that up to chance.

“But, really, Charmer, I don’t think Magpie’s wrong.” Varric was saying. “Just because you aren’t a server in the tavern, that doesn’t mean you can’t come by for a drink yourself.”

Amy only hummed, not at all committed to any course of action at this point. It wasn’t like she was in any shape to go anywhere without her ‘handlers’ freaking out. Which meant that she had time to think about it, either way.

“ _Or,_ you could pitch an unholy fit and just do whatever you want.” Bull said, also smirking. “I bet you could get away with it.”

Amy gave him a look that was both pained and judgmental. If Varric and Bull were playing the angel and devil on her shoulder, she knew exactly which was which and was a little disappointed that her ‘angel’ was a jaded salt mine….it was nice that her devil had horns though. Consistency. There was probably a dwarf joke to be made in the salt mine quality, but not this day.

“No.” She said in a very firm, deep tone. “They lead. Make the choicez.” she shook her head. “Beeh-sides. So much moar ta do.”

It was time to grow up a little, obviously. That wasn’t _impossible_ , it just wasn’t as fun as being a tavern wench. Still, everyone else was having to bear the weight of this wilting world… A little maturity wasn’t too much to ask of her.

There was something… something she needed, and yet it was with her all along… what was it that was nagging her?

 _‘McManus is a broad line, you know. Not just for our clan.’_ her father had said. She could see his face smiling that same winsome smile. He hefted her up on his shoulders, and she squealed when he spun around. The countryside was so green, even under the sun’s waning light... it nearly hurt to look at it. _‘It goes all the way back to Rome! From the name Magnus.’_

 _‘Do you know what it means, My dove?’_ her mother had asked, that indulgent look that seemed to soften her so dawning in her eyes… Amy wondered how often she’d failed to see it. The way her mother couldn’t stop smiling in those early days when Da had horsed around with her or her brothers. _‘It means, to be magnanimous.’_

This conversation had happened when she was six, during a tour of Ireland that her mother had orchestrated. Another of the ‘grand homecomings’... back when Granda and Gran had been more than a little cold towards their daughter-in-law. In spite of less than encouraging conditions, Bridget McManus had never shied away from the opportunity to connect, had she?

The memory suddenly came flashing back….and Amy remembered thinking that her parents were that. They were magnanimous. Even if she wasn’t entirely certain what all the word entailed, she imagined that they somehow were exactly that.

Magnanimous, huh?

“You sleepin, Charmer?” Bull asked, his voice a deep rumble in spite of how quiet he was trying to be.

“Nah.” Amy denied, her eyes still closed. “Jus restin’ my eyes.”

“Don’t let her fall asleep on you, Tiny. She kicks.”

A laugh shook Bull’s entire frame. “Like I need you to tell me that.” Amy had to snort at that. She felt Bull heave a heavy breath. “Looks like it’s nap time, Amy.”

For whatever reason, Elizabeth Taylor sprung into Amy’s mind.

“Now is the time... for guts and guile.” Amy murmured, albeit more drowsy than she had felt only moments ago. She could only assume that the food and booze were settling. It was also safe and warm, and she was asleep within minutes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys liked this chapter :) I'm going to be heading to Tennessee for a week or so to visit my cousin over New Years. We have long-standing plans to watch the new premier of Sherlock together ^..^ Already working on the next chapter, though, so hopefully the break will help.
> 
> *long sigh*...I'm thinking Taco Bell...


	25. RSVP This

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whelp...here I am again from my monthly hiatus :| This is getting to be a habit. Thanks for all the comments and well-wishes from everyone :) It really cheered me up.
> 
> There was this whole mess with the government nearly pulling my financial aid, and struggling with that and...well TLDR: I’m back on financial aid. Which means I won’t have to drop out of college 2 classes away from my bachelors! Yay!
> 
> As always, prompts, links, and tidbits are available on my StrivingScribe tumblr. Hey :) If you like what I’m about, and you want to help me survive the librarian's ruthless summer reading program, you could totally follow my tumblr and heart some entries :3 That’d be cool of you.
> 
> And hey…thanks :)

Amy is not sleeping right now, she is probably up and being shadowed by Solas or Siheta or both.

Magpie is standing on the field, having given both Sam and Cullen a 'report' about the last couple of days.

“Is there a reason for this change in behavior?” Sam asks, squinting in her general direction.

“Is there a reason you’re worried about her levels of compliance?” Solas asks—obviously Siheta is shadowing Amy—coming up behind her.

Sam shrugs. “It’s just… not very like Amy.” Sam grunts, his squint shifting to the ground.

“It is uncommon.” Solas murmurs.

“Uncommon?” Cullen half chuckles. “Uncommon is a kind word.” His eyebrows rise as he shakes his head. “Amy would more likely storm this field before a week is up than she would accept her rest.”

“It could just be that her wounds were that severe.” Sam reminded, a bleak expression settling in his eyes.

Magpie takes a deep breath through her nose, letting it sift out. She meets Cullen’s eyes, the gesture lasting long enough for his gaze to sharpen. He recognizes her internal battle and begins to pay attention more keenly.

“I told her.” Magpie announces.

Solas’s head droops, his molars grinding only enough that she can notice, and she can because she’s been paying attention to his behavior a lot more lately.

Cullen’s eyes narrow and Sam’s widen, the evidence of suspicion and surprise side by side.

“You _told_ her.” Cullen said, his voice deepening—a question, asking for clarification as well as demanding ‘what were you thinking!’ at the same time.

“Yes. I told her. I told her about her elevated status and that she isn’t to worry about the field or serving in the tavern any longer.”

“Why would you do that?” Cullen asks, both affronted and incredulous. He takes a step towards her, but she marches into his space.

“It’s called being decent, halla-head!” she growls through bared teeth. “It’s also common sense. As in it should be obvious, but since you’re not used to dealing with it—‘it’ being ‘women’ or ‘people in general’— I’ll spell it out for you.”

Cullen glares down at her, more in a ‘put out’ sort of way than conveying any genuine form of anger. He’s the commander of the inquisition, and she is a tiny Dalish girl-child… she should not step into his space.

“Please, keep your voice down.” Cullen demands, following his own advice.

“Maybe it’s escaped your keen knowledge, but Amy—like almost every other person in the world—needs time to process things. She has a reaction, and she processes, then she comes to a magnanimous decision. She did it with Bull, she did it with Leliana. She’s gonna do it with you and Josephine, but you have to give her the chance to do it.”

Cullen blinked, but looked away, towards the horizon.

“Wait, what happened with Bull?” Sam asks, and while his tone sounds innocent enough… Magpie knows that it could result in anything but innocent intentions.

“I. Don’t. Know.” Magpie grumbled, half-turning towards his direction. “It was when you had me shadowing her. I wasn’t close enough to actually listen in. But one night they had a heart to heart. She said some things, he said some things, he hurt her feelings somehow, and she withdrew. It’s what she does, because she’s afraid that if she’s around a person when her emotions are all raw, she’s going to do something she regrets. She knows she needs that time, and so she does it.”

“That’s very astute of you to notice.” Solas says, one of his infamous backhanded compliments that creeps under her skin. It wouldn’t be half so annoying if he didn’t sound so ridiculously surprised.

“That’s what I do. I pay attention to people.” She turns back to Cullen, her tone softening just slightly, because she didn't need to make an enemy here. Cullen needed to understand why the decision had been necessary, that’s all. “And in that, I made the ‘executive decision’ to tell Amy. Because she needs time to process all the decisions you’ve made for her without consulting her, otherwise she might-could break your pretty face.” Magpie took a deep breath before whispering. “You’re welcome.”

“Aw, you think Cullen’s pretty too?” Sam asked, ever willing to deflect tension with humor.

Cullen’s face settles into an expression that reeks of ‘no’.

Magpie turns and begins walking away.

“This conversation isn’t over.” Cullen decides.

“Actually it is.” Magpie says, stopping. “There’s really nothing else to say. I told her. She knows. She has known for three days now.”

Cullen blinks rapidly, assimilating this information with everything he already knew of Amy, her condition, her personality, and...it doesn’t make sense.

“Do you think…” Sam begins. “Do you think she’s been more docile because she’s hurt or…?”

“You mean because of the injuries she’s sustained?” Solas asks. Sam nods and Solas answers by shaking his head. Magpie answer with a barked laugh.

“Very well.” Cullen says, his entire body shifting as though to brace for impact. “Why do you think her behavior has changed?”

Solas surveys him for a moment before looking to Magpie, as if to say ‘well, go on then’.

“Well.” Magpie takes a deep breath. “First, she’s hurt. Like, her feelings are hurt. I’d tell you to put yourself in her place, but I don’t think you can.” she pronounced, ignoring their looks of indignation. “No offense intended, it’s just impossible to think like she thinks. She’s worked hard, _really_ really hard, to be welcome on the field and the tavern is where she can enjoy her time with everyone. So, losing that smarts. Also, the fact that someone made a decision for her without consulting her is bound to rankle.”

Solas was nodding, but he held up a hand in Sam’s general direction when the man tried to open his mouth. It was amusing to watch this silent exchange.

“At the same time, she probably thinks she’s heinously selfish for wanting to remain on the field and in the tavern, but she knows those are the places where she’s most comfortable. She’s not used to having others make decisions for her, but it's pretty obvious that she has had some measure of authority that delegates and dictates decisions..at least in some area of her life... So, she’s trying to accept her new circumstances with grace and maturity.”

Cullen stops squinting at the horizon, turning back in their general direction so that he can regard both Magpie and Solas with a sigh.

“Well.. that’s good then.” Sam said, all of the awkward radiating off of him.

“I would give her a few more days….” Solas advised, and Magpie was quick to nod her opinion. “By then, she should be more resigned and accepting.”

Now it was Cullen’s turn to grind his molars. “Good advice.” he grumbled almost to himself. Then his eyes landed on Magpie. “As for your ‘executive decision’—”

“What about it.” It wasn’t a question so much as a challenge.

Cullen took a deep breath, as if to remind himself not to rage. “Your ‘executive decision’ while not within your rights—”

“Take it to your Andraste.” Magpie snapped.

“I beg your pardon?” Cullen’s voice became low and dangerous.

“Maybe this has escaped your notice, but we’re not friends and I don’t work for you.” Magpie reminded. “I told Amy because if I’m working for anyone, it’s her. Not you, not Sam, not those primped up chantry girls, and not your Andraste.”

“And you think she would be happy to know you’ve been conveying reports to us?” Cullen asked.

“Well, since she told me to continue keeping you informed?....Yeah. I think she’d be fine with it.” Cullen blinked rapidly, assimilating this new information. Sam let out a descending whistle.

“When did this happen?” Solas asks.

“You sleep a lot.” Magpie reminded him.

His eyebrows rose and he gave the barest hint of a nod. “Sleep is sacred.”

This was his only defense.

It almost made Magpie smirk. Almost.

Ok, it did make her smirk.

“Wait a minute.” Sam interceded. “Amy told you to keep reporting back to Cullen and me?”

“Yes.” Magpie grumbled, shrugging. “She seemed to know it was going on even when I was telling her. Said you probably would feel better knowing anyway.” Cullen’s face settled in an exhausted scowl.

“She has been a superb patient.” Solas reminded. “Especially over the past few days.”

“Well, that’s because the pair of you are intent on draining her soul.”

“That seems a little dramatic.” Cullen grumbled.

“No it isn’t. You’ve enacted restrictions on her that completely rob her of her identity.” She pointed to Cullen. “You don’t want her on the field, and she’s fought hard to get here,” She pointed to Solas. “And you refuse to allow her to sing, and what else does she even have if she can’t sing? It’s literally the thing everyone asks her for, and it’s the easiest way she can express herself.”

“Why can’t she sing?” Sam asked, peering at Solas curiously.

Solas glared momentarily at Magpie, but then he nodded before explaining. “Amy is using a type of magic, as I’m sure you can tell.”

“She did manage to heal a wound in her back just with a song.” Cullen said with a grim nod.

“She was not a mage before she passed through the breech.”

“...seriously?” Sam asked.

Solas shook his head. “Indeed. And it appears that the magic of the Fade does not touch her… as though there is some sort of seal around her mind or spirit that keeps them separated.”

“But that’s...that’s good...isn’t it?” Sam was asking, not knowing the first thing about magic.

“Yes, and no. Amy does not dream in the Fade, she is untouched by its magic and its influence. However, that begs the question, where is her magic coming from?”

Cullen’s eyes narrowed. “Where?”

“I assume it has to come from within. This would mean that her own energy is what powers her magic...and if that is the case, one must question what would happen if that energy should run out.”

There was a beat of silence as the two men considered this question.

“Are you suggesting that Amy could die by expending too much of her energy via...singing?” Cullen asked.

Solas shrugged. “I’m only certain that I don’t know. However, if the well she draws from is internal...it would be better to focus on conservation instead of experimentation.”

“That’s his answer.” Magpie said. “Siheta says that ‘careful observation’ is more appropriate. Elossa has also said that it follows that her energy is something that can renew itself. Bax doesn’t know what to think, or if he does he’s content to look thoughtful and remain silent.”

“And they are experts in the area.” Solas said, more as a soffing reminder that no one really knew for a fact what was going on with Amy.

Magpie gave him the most bizarre expression. It was equal parts frustration and exhaustion. “When you actually find an expert in whatever it is that Amy is, you let me know.” She replied. “I’m just saying, yours isn’t the only opinion.” Solas only nodded, albeit reluctantly.

“Have you shared these opinions with Amy?” Solas asked.

“What makes you think Siheta hasn’t already?”

“What makes you assume she has?”

“This..” Magpie messaged her brow. “Is a circular conversation, at best.” she sighed. “Besides, if you’re argument is that Amy’s too weak to expend energy, magical or otherwise, then that won’t be so for much longer. She’s gotten much stronger in the past week.”

“That’s… fantastic.” Sam grumbled. “I’ve never heard of anyone taking an arrow to the back and just walking around within a week.”

“It hit her in such a way that it stuck between her shoulder blade and ribs.” Cullen murmured. “I was more worried about her lung being punctured, but I think it was obvious that didn’t happen.”

“Why do you say that?”

“...well...she was singing immediately afterward.” Cullen reminded. “One doesn’t puncture a lung and strike up a rousing song.”

Solas seemed to be considering that critically. “I was more concerned with the muscles that were severed near her arm, but those seem to have mended.”

“...entirely?” Cullen asked.

“Not quite.” Solas amended. “She continues to report lingering aches and twinges.” Solas reported. “I am confident that, with diligent attention given to exercise, her left arm will regain a full range of motion within a few months.”

They all seemed to think over these details before Magpie murmured. “That’s crazy.”

“It is!” Sam seconded. He was relieved someone else finally said what he’d been thinking.

“I have never heard of such a swift recovery.” Cullen reported. “Ever.”

“Could she be doing something without even knowing that she’s doing something?” Magpie asked, her question directed at Solas.

“.. some form of ambient magic?”

“I don’t know, I’m asking you.”

He breathed out a soft laugh before nodding. “I don’t think it’s outside the realm of possibility.”

“You’re saying she’s using whatever energy she has to...what? Just...bridge the gap? Make herself well?” Cullen asked.

Solas thought over the prospect for a moment before nodding. “It is possible that is happening… though, her lacking of any magical background causes her to….falter.” He trailed off. “She is unschooled in channeling energy or willing magical forces to obey her… it would make sense that this is taking her so much time to accomplish, because she doesn’t know what she is doing.”

“She could potentially heal herself entirely.” Sam’s statement was less of a statement. It sounded more like he was entreating Solas to make this leap into a reality.

Solas sighed, rolling his shoulders back. “It is not outside the realm of possibility.”

“ _Could_ she be trained?” Cullen asked.

“Yes. That is to say, she would be a most dutiful student.” Solas murmured almost absently.

“You seem genuine and yet uncertain.” Cullen eyed him expectantly.

“Amy would apply herself to any training we offered her.” Solas deciphered, illustrating his point before following up with his concerns. “I can promise no definite results, as her circumstances are distinct, and she has received no previous training.” he shrugged. “However, it bears stating that no one can become such a disciplined schlar and fighter without approaching training in a diligent fashion. If Amy were to allow herself to be trained… there’s no telling what all she could learn.”

There was a second while Magpie, Cullen, and Sam examined Solas’s words.

“Sooo… she can try, but who knows?” Magpie murmured.

Solas smiled almost bitingly at her. “Quite.”

“I assume you intend to tell Amy of this?” Cullen asked, not quite looking at Magpie. It was clear that is who he was questioning.

“Yes.”

He nodded. He took in a deep breath through his nose, thankful that the cold air no longer seared his sinuses. “That isn’t the worst thing I could imagine.”

“And I’m taking Bax with me when I go back to her.”

“What?”

“Why?” Solas asked.

“Because she misses him.”

Cullen stared at her with his mouth open, but was otherwise silent. He shook his head and shrugged, “Well… I don’t think I’m in charge of that, but I don’t suppose it would be a problem.”

“Who is in charge of that?” Sam asked. Cullen only shook his head. But then the horn signaling approaching travelers sounded, gaining their attention.

“Good. Good meeting.” Magpie said with a nod. “I’ll be on my way then.”

“Magpie.” Cullen’s words stopped her from leaving, but she still kept her distance. “There’s really no need for any hostility… None of us want anything more than to keep her safe.”

Magpie’s stance softened, but only somewhat. “Yeah. Well. Just remember sometimes, that ‘keeping’ feels a lot like a stranglehold.” she reminded before finally taking her leave.  
Cullen watched her leave, his mind working quickly.

“So… Magpie is working for Amy.” he murmured.

“I’m uncertain that statement means exactly what you think it means.” Solas amended. “I believe Magpie simply acts upon Amy’s behalf. It isn’t as if Amy has employed her… in fact, I think such a notion would upset Amy.” Both Sam and Cullen gave him looks of confusion. “Amy doesn’t like the idea of servants.”

“Exactly how much is going on around here that we don’t know about?” Sam mused absently. Cullen half scoffed in response.

“The two of you have an acute focus. Commander, your focus is on this army, and rightfully so. Samuel, you have been doing everything you can to keep the words of your inner circle in the forefront of your mind. This allows certain smaller things to slip through the cracks.”

“You don’t say.” Cullen half grumbled.

Solas eyed the both of them carefully before continuing. “Perhaps… the two of you have been working strenuously for too long.” he mulled over his thoughts, rotating a single idea in his mind before a smirk signaled his decision. “You might consider taking a break for your midday meal. The tavern is quite welcoming, and very sparsely occupied before evening. I believe you’ll find the experience a welcome change.”

Sam couldn’t help grinning as he eyed Solas with no small amount of suspicion. “What are you plotting, Solas?”

Solas worked to hide his sly expression. Barely well enough, as it was only reflected in his tone. “Only helping you to learn more without having to hear about it in another ‘report’.” Solas said. “If that will be all, I am expected to help Adan.” with that Solas left, not waiting to see what the two would do with his advice.

Sam watched him go with an abrupt chuckle. “Well? Shall we?”

“What?” Cullen asked. “Take lunch in the tavern?” He squinted at the seemingly endless rows of men under his command. “For what purpose?”

“Solas wouldn’t have said anything if there wasn’t something of significant worth to be gained.” Sam argued.

“Do they even have food at the tavern?” Cullen countered. “I assumed there was only drinking to be had there.”

“So we get food and go there with it. Why bother struggling over this when you want to go there as much as I do?”

Cullen’s gaze snapped to Sam. “What makes you assume that?”

“Oh, go on.” Sam grumbled, his head tossing back as he rolled his eyes exaggeratedly. “You’re just as curious as I am about it.”

“Curiosity from one of Solas’s vague statements isn’t always indicative of a reward of any value.”

“Stop being obstinate for five seconds, and admit that having a meal away from muster wouldn’t be horrible.” Sam grumbled.

Cullen sighed heavily. “That much is true.”

“Now, why exactly would the tavern be such a bad idea?” Sam asked.

Cullen considered the question before finally admitting. “Perhaps it’s just that the notion came from Solas. The man isn’t known for being forthright, and while I’ve no real evidence against him… I don’t entirely trust him.”

Sam snorted out a laugh. “Of course you don’t. He’s squirrelly.” Sam took a deep breath. “Well… with or without you, I’m having lunch in the tavern. It’ll be nice to figure something out without reading about it in a report.”

Cullen seemed to consider that before he nodded. “Yes… I suppose that is a small pay off.”

Sam paused for a second. “So...you’re coming with?” Cullen sighed again, and Sam half glared at him. “Hey, don’t make this sound like such a chore.”

“What’s a chore?” The two of them glanced over to see Ser Wystan approaching them from the direction of the field.

"Taking lunch in the tavern.” Sam offered.

Wystan’s eyebrows rose a touch. “A change of scenery wouldn’t kill you, Commander.”

Cullen chortled. “Really? Whatever happened to ‘this field requires absolute focus’?”

“After all that’s happened?” Wystan grumbled. “I think every man on this field understands the severity of their offices.”

“Care to join us?” Sam asked, a smirk tugging at the edge of his mouth. “Evidently this venture has something to do with Amy.” He added as incentive.

Wystan blinked, a strange mixture of hope and gravity settling on his features. “It has been a while since I heard anything about our little lady.”

“‘Our little lady’?” Cullen asked, drifting to follow Sam as he made his way to the mess hall.

Wystan smirked. “It’s ironic, I know… but the men have been calling her that for a while. It’s not untrue...she is a tiny thing.”

Sam barked out a laugh. “Tiny but mighty.” he shook his head. “That should be our slogan for the Inquisition.” Even Cullen laughed at that.

The mess hall was longer than most of the buildings in Haven, but held very few luxuries… if one could call thing like beds and fireplaces a luxury. In southern Ferelden, fireplaces were necessary for life. All the mess hall had was a large stove in the far corner, which the servants used to keep large portions of food hot. There were tables and chairs aplenty, and most were full with the men that were either off-shift or soon to receive new orders for the coming week.

It wasn’t uncommon for people to take their lunch elsewhere… Especially those of higher office. So no one seemed overly bothered that the three moved through the building without pausing to consider the tables.

The tavern was a completely different matter. Sam, with all of the aplomb of an ogre, kicked the tavern door open. Both Cullen and Wystan winced slightly at this, but they found another focus right away.

“Well, well, well.” Sam murmured with heavy suspicion in his voice.

There was a beat of silence as the three men entered the tavern and let their eyes adjust to the change of light.

At the head of the table, Amy sat. Magpie was on her right and Varric was on her left. Krem sat beside Magpie, and Bull sat on the other side of Krem. Sera was across the room, sitting on top of the opposite table.

“Hiiiii!” Amy half sang out, waving at them.

“Fancy meeting you here.” Magpie mused, her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“What?” Wystan snapped. “It’s not a bad thing for a man to take a break away from the field.”

“Mm-hm!” Amy hummed in agreement. “Sit.” she offered, motioning to their table.

Sam sat at the opposite end of the table from Amy, and Wystan sat on his right, with Cullen taking the space at Sam’s left and directly beside Bull.

“It feels weird to be eating here while you guys are just...here...without food.” Sam murmured, giving his bowl an almost guilty glance.

“Bax.” Amy chirped, smiling as if that were an explanation enough.

“Bax is getting food for us…” Magpie murmured. She gave Amy a half glance before continuing. “I mean, I was going to, but Amy insisted.” Amy only nodded, her eyes closed, a strange look of satisfaction on her face.

“And we ate already.” Krem said waving his hand in a dismissive manner. “We just show up here to see Amy.”

“So…” Sam murmured, trying to pretend he was interested in his food more so than the company. “You...come here often?”

Amy chuckled at that, because it sounded like a cheesy pick-up line. This behavior made those around her stare at her in obvious curiosity, but she just shook her head.

“Late-ly.” Amy said, sliding a look to Magpie. “Two? Two days?” Magpie nodded, confirming that this practice was only two days old.

“You’re looking better than we last saw you at least.” Wystan murmured, and while Amy would never describe him as ‘soft’ or ‘warm’ his expression had softened and he did seem warmer. “A lot less Tiger and a lot more Lady, it seems. But better.” He said with a grin.

“Huh?” Bull grunted.

“Ah, it’s just something she said ages ago. Never made any sense to me.” Wystan grumbled.

“Is suh-pose t’be.. The Lady or the Tiger.” Amy said with a grin. “But, I said ‘I am the Lady and the Tiger’.”

“...ok…” Varric allowed before finalizing. “But what is it?”

Amy let out a soft chuckle. “Story.”

“Ooh.” Varric practically purred.

“Oh-oh-oh!” Magpie practically vibrated in her seat. “Is it anything like that moon girl in the sailor suit you told me about?” she asked, lacing her fingers together to cradle her chin.

Amy chuckled softly, shaking her head.“‘Bout a king...he is… a good king, but quite mad. He has a thing… some-times, let’s fate judge people.” She explained. “Has an aaah-reena. Two doors. Unmarked. Behind one, a be-you-tiful woman. Other, vicious tiger.”

“Whoa…” Bull lowed. “That’s… really twisted.”

“Ha!” Sam barked. “I get it. You’re the lady and the tiger, the trial of fate.”

The table shook as Bull smacked it with a single open hand. “That’s it! You are a tiger?”

“...what’s a tiger?” Magpie grumbled.

“It’s a big cat.”

Amy half snorted. “Like a puma.” she said in a droning voice. Magpie gave her a comically ‘upset’ look, her eyes wide and her mouth drawn into a flat line.

“Uh..more like a lion… well, bigger than a lion sometimes.” Bull supplied, utterly missing the joke because he’d never seen Red vs Blue… He would love Red vs Blue. “Had them back in the wilder parts of the jungles of Par Vollen.” He shook his head, as if to shake away a rueful memory. “They’re solitary cats, so I guess a Puma isn’t too far off…now that I think about it.” he shrugged. “But really, they’re bigger than lions and meaner too. They’re all orange with black stripes, and white paws and bellies.”

“Bad es’perience?” Amy asked.

“Well, I mean… there was this one time we saw a tiger cub, right?” He shook his head, his eye widening almost comically. “And we’re looking at it all like, ‘oh hey, look it looks so fluffy and cute!’” He sat up straighter. “No.”

“Mama?” Amy asked, wincing slightly.

He nodded. “Those things are so fierce, but they still look so awesome.” Bull said enthusiastically, not forgetting his fear from the encounter, but choosing to highlight the similarities to Amy. “You’re a lot like that. You look like you should be all cuddly...and...well, I mean, you can be and all, but…” He shook his head. “When it’s time to fight, you’re all prowl and deadly focus. Like,” he turned to face the opposite end of the table. “She literally hunkers down and you think, ‘well this is it. This is how I go.’ as she’s getting ready to pounce.” He turned back to Amy. “Did you just master acrobatic gladiatorial combat wherever you're from?” Bull said, eyeing her suspiciously. Amy just blinked at him, shaking her head as if he were completely insane.

“I think your account of this fight of yours may be dominating your opinion…” Wystan murmured.

“I was there too, and I have to say…” Krem shook his head. “It was…” he thumped the table with two quick strikes. “Bam-bam, two hits. Done.”

“She scrambled my brains.” Bull grumbled.

“She’s right here.” Amy grumbled back.

The door to the tavern opened, Solas stood, holding the door open for Bax. He was handling three plates of food.

"What happened to heling Adan?" Sam asked Solas suspiciously.

"It's time for taking the mid-day meal." Solas glossed over the answer, wafting into his usual corner.

"Uh-huh..."Sam grunted, still eyeing the elf with undisguised doubts.

“Sorry it took so long.” Bax apologized, setting on plate in front of Amy and the other in front of Magpie. Then he sat on the other side of Varric with his own plate. “What were you talking about?”

Amy smirked. “Crouching tiger, hidden Dragon.”

“I have no idea what that means, but it sounds awesome.” Bull said with such gravity, Amy almost missed the humor in the statement.

“What… what is that?” Magpie asked.

“‘Nother story.” Amy explained.

“You like stories, huh, Charmer?” Varric asked with a smirk.

Amy nodded, because really the only common thread that tied her interests together was that each shared an immersive narrative.

“You know…” Varric drug out the sentence, as if he were actually thinking over what he was about to say, when it was apparent that he knew full and well what was up his own sleeves. “I could procure a copy of some choice literature for you…..” he offered, before offhandedly adding. “...if you’d like.”

Amy’s face transformed, her eyes widening and her mouth gaping in a joyous smile… only to fall into a resigned pout. “No use.” she said with a tired shrug. She had never been one to play with her food, and that wasn’t going to happen here either.

“What?” Varric asked. “You don’t think you’ll have the time to read? You are, kind of indisposed at the moment, Charmer.”

Amy shook her head before finally revealing. “Can’t read.” she said, slipping even further into a pout.

There were the confounded looks, the wide eyed and aghast expressions. And then, the sound of silence before,

“WHAT?!”

Sam winced, gripping his nearly empty plate as if to protect it from brigands. “Fuck! Sera….” he took a deep breath to settle himself. “I forgot you were even here.”

Sera huffed, before actually standing on the table. “Alright, first off.” She pointed to Sam. “Rude! And second,” She looked to Amy. “Whatcha mean, you can’t read? How’n all fuck can you not read! You can do fancy-pants numbers shite!”

“Can! Was taught...” Amy looked away and shrugged. “... but...can’t read your lang-wichs.”

It had been something that smarted so often, she had purposefully cast it from her mind. She had been monumentally grateful that the spoken languages of Thedas held true from the game… unfortunately, that held true to the writing as well. All the documents and signs here were also similar to those in the game…so there was no way to read them…. She’d tried, but it was impossible without a guide.

And now there was a room full of people she loved and admired, and all of them were gaping at her like she was some sort of mutant… then again, maybe she was.

“I’ll admit, that is….bizarre...but, we know that you are not from… here.” Solas said carefully, and Bull seemed to tense up. It wasn’t overly obvious, he just abandoned his slouch for sitting up straight.

“We’ll just have to teach you.” Bax said, as if he were telling her she’d need a scarf because it was cold out. It was so obvious when he said it like that.

“Yeah!” Magpie crowed, suddenly excited. “You know, reading common isn’t my strong suit, so lessons wouldn’t hurt me either.”

Magpie’s enthusiasm seeped into Amy, brightening her mood significantly.

“Sooo..” Sera half-sang as she slid back into a seated position atop her table. “You can write and read...just not in any language we know…?” Her face scrunched up. “Howz’at any good for anybody anyways?”

Amy winced at the use of the word ‘anyways’. She hated that word. Almost as bad as the word ‘fleek’...unless you were using it ironically, of course.

“I would be interested in this written language.” Solas murmured in an offhanded manner, as if it were a passing thought.

“As would I.” Bax said with a smile.

“Me too, me too!” Magpie cheered.

“May be later.” Amy said, pushing her empty plate away.

“Wow...you really know how to polish off your food.” Krem murmured. “It must be good to eat decent food.”

Wystan blinked. “What now?”

Krem hoisted an elbow onto a table, leaning his hand into his hand. “She’s been eating servants rations since she got here.” he said simply.

Sam blinked at that. “Wait….what?”

“Why?” Cullen’s voice seemed to slice through all other noise in the tavern. He sounded so indignant, it was almost comical. At least it would be if Amy was anything other than slightly offended.

“Servant.” She said, pointing to herself.

“She...has a point.” Bull grunted.

“If is so o-fence-ive...then...May be.. Should try feeding servants better.” Amy grumbled, her nose ticking upward.

Ah, there was the guilt.

“Yeah!” Sera chirped. “Suck it!”

And now the moment was bisected by slight resentment. More resentment of Sera than anything though.

Luckily, the mood is reset entirely as a soldier bursts into the tavern. “M’lords! There are strangers who—”

“We can speak for ourselves, thanks.”

Her voice was a seduction. It was infused with a strange dominating energy that slithered around your ears and beckoned you close.

She had the same color skin as Magpie, but her hair was dark brown instead of black. Behind her lurked a larger figure. A male elf that looked similar enough to her, but...well..obviously masculine. Her eyes were more turquoise, but his were the greens of copper patina. He was a solid silent sentry, unyielding and unbowed, whereas she was a softer sort of strength... all slinky and wiley. They both had very subtle vallaslin. The man’s was the mark of June and the woman’s bore the subtle mark of Andruil.

Her face transformed from the resentful boredom of only a second before, lighting in utter joy as her eyes landed on Magpie. “Athi!” She whooped, and Magpie sprung up, somehow using the table to leap over Krem and wrap her arms around this new stranger.

The two of them spun haphazardly, until the man caught them both against his torso before they could fall over. He embraced both women to himself, burying his face against the crown of Magpie’s head. Amy heard the man inhale sharply, and was caught by how intimate the scene felt.

“Magpie?” Amy called. “Friends?”

“Magpie?” The girl squawked, drawing back and staring at Magpie in confused horror. “Really?”

The man shrugged, unperturbed. “It suits well enough.” He droned, his voice deeper than Amy had expected. She could feel it in her pelvis all the way across the room.

Magpie grinned like a villain. “Everyone, these are the Tues.” She said. “Tunan.” She said as she leaned fully back against the man. He slung an arm around her waist casually. “And his sister, Tunen.” she continued before motioning to the woman. Tunen grabbed her wrist and nuzzled her nose against it. Magpie actually giggled at the interaction, before drawing her wrist back and motioning to the room. “This is Sera, Sam, Cullen, Bull, Krem, Amy, Varric, Bax, Wystan, and Solas.” she said pointing to each person in turn.

Sera seemed to visibly droop at the sight of these newcomers, looking away as though she couldn’t possibly be more bored. Everyone else seemed to be cycling through regular emotions that newcomers usually produced: surprise, curiosity, vague interest, etc.

Amy stood, moving slowly out of habit at this point.

Magpie blinked, looking at her as if only just recognizing her. “Oh… oh, I need to—”

“Show yur friends Haven.” Amy supplied as she made her way to the other side of the table and laid a hand on Cullen’s shoulder. “C'mander? Lend me... your arm?”

Perhaps it was being raised in the Order and being chastised against wasting time, or perhaps it was simply that he had talked the least of everyone at the table, but he was the only one with a completely clean plate.

“Of course.” He said, rising almost automatically. At this point, he was only grateful that she was being so gracious.

“But… I mean, Bax could—”

“Bax?” Amy blinked rapidly.

“I could what now?” Bax looked between Magpie and Amy.

“Well, I was going to have you stay with us.” Magpie announced.

Bax’s eyes widened. “Magpie, you know I’d love to, but… I don’t think I can make that sort of decision.”

Amy’s face hardened slightly, but Sam stood up quickly. “I’ll figure it out.” He shrugged. “I mean, I’ve no idea who’s supposed to be in charge of that either. But, if you’re willing to stay and help Adan for the afternoon, I’m sure I can find someone to agree to it.” He said as if that were a simple process. “Really, it’s all about getting everyone to agree that it’s a good idea… since… there seems to be no one in charge of that.”

Bax nodded with an eager smile. “It’s better than standing in the tent and hoping nothing happens even though you’re bored out of your mind.”

He probably had no idea how uncomfortable that sentiment made both Cullen and Amy...though, they were uneasy over separate issues.

“It’ll be something useful to do till it’s time for the Remedy.” Bax murmured.

Amy’s eyes sharpened. “Remedy?”

Everyone seemed to hold their breath. Everyone except Bax. “Well..yeah. We’re serving it…today.” His voice trailed off when he sensed the strained mood around him.

But Amy only smiled. “That’s...good.” She said with a nod. Bax’s eyes widened fractionally as realization dawned. Amy hadn’t been told...he had just assumed that she knew.

“Shall we?” Cullen said, offering his arm. Amy nodded, and Cullen couldn’t help but be struck by how small and delicate she seemed as she laced her arm under his, her hand resting over the inside of his forearm.

They walked at a slow pace. Cullen would hate to admit how long it took him to work up the courage to speak.

“I’m… glad to see you looking so well.” He said. Amy looked up at him with an obvious question in her eyes. “You were not very well when I last saw you… I hope you have no resentment towards the soldiers..”

Amy took a deep breath, closing her eyes and leaning on him a little more heavily than she had before. He paused, to let her collect herself. “We are not enemies, but friends. We must not be enemies.” She replied. She looked up at him with a soft smile. “Though passion may have strained, it must not break our bonds of affection. The mystic chords of memory, stretching from every battlefield and patriot grave to every living heart and hearthstone all over this broad land, will yet swell the chorus of the union, when again touched, as surely they will be, by the better angels of our nature.”

Cullen stared at her, more than a little dumbfounded. “How do you do that?” he shook himself out of the trance. “Just… manage to say something so profound.”

“Not my words.” Amy explained. “Link-on’s words.”

“Who?”

“Abraham. Lincoln.” she said carefully. “Long dead leader.”

It seemed to take forever for them to reach her little hut, but they did at last. Cullen was struck again by how simple it was.

“In any case, I’m relieved to know you aren’t angry.”

“Oooh.” Amy murmured, sounding bright and cheerful. He was struck by how bright her smile seemed. “I’m fuuuuu-ree-yus.” she said gleefully. He felt himself draw back, his eyebrows high… how could someone look so friendly and feel so fearsome?

“You...are?”

“Mm-hm.” She agreed, nodding with a stern look on her face. “But. Cannot say I suh-port in-kwa-zis-shun, if I only do it while you make the de-cis-yons that I like.”

“..You are exhibiting remarkable restraint in all of this.”

Amy glanced over at him. “In dulge me?”

He nodded and she motioned to herself. “I am the one thing in life I can control.” She said, motioning to herself with both hands resting against her chest. “I am inimitable. I am an original.” She shook her head. “I’m not falling behind or running late.” She paused, making severe eye contact with him to fully relay her point. “I’m not standing still. I am lying in wait.”

Cullen straightened at that proclamation. “Samuel faces an endless uphill climb. He has something to prove, he has so much to lose.” She continued reciting in spite of his panic. “Samuel’s pace is relentless, he wastes no time…. What is it like in his shoes?” she seemed to drift away then, ambling towards the bed. “Samuel doesn’t hesitate. He exhibits no restraint. He takes, and he takes, and he takes, and he keeps winning anyway.” She smiled, somehow managing to look weary and sad and nostalgic all at once. “He changes the game. He plays and he raises the stakes. And if there’s a reason he seems to thrive when so few survive, then goddammit, I’m willing to wait for it.”

Cullen blinked, shaking himself out of a trance. That’s what it almost felt like… but a willing captivation. The only reason it didn’t bother him being that he had actually experienced magic that compelled and ensorcelled… whatever magic Amy did possess, he knew it wasn’t that. It felt completely different.

“So...you’re biding your time.” Cullen murmured, with a smirk. “I sense that those words were perhaps lyrics.” he said, though it wasn’t at all accusatory. In fact, his tone seemed more like what one conspirator confiding in another. She smiled, finally sitting upon the bed. “I wouldn’t have told on you if you’d wanted to sing.” he admitted. He also wouldn't have minded hearing her sing again, but that went without saying. 

She seemed to visibly wilt at his words. It was then that Cullen realized Magpie’s grievances over Solas’s restrictions. The entire time he had seen her, she had been stalwart… But now, as she denied herself the ability to sing, she looked despondent and frail.

“No.” She very nearly whimpered, looking utterly dismal. “Solas says no.” she took a heavy breath and then seemed to rally. “Cullen?”

“Hm?”

“Treb you shays?”

He blinked at her, realizing that she was changing the subject purposefully while being baffled by how she could focus on something he hadn’t told her about.

“Ah...right. I don’t always need to tell you these things… do I?” she smiled, and he cleared his throat. “Yes. The trebuchets are on their way. Slow moving as they are, they shouldn’t take too long to reach us.”

She nodded, satisfied. “Will need.”

Cullen allowed himself a moment to feel smug about demanding trebuchets and winning the arguments needed to get them…. Then he felt a touch worried.

“But… Till is un-ah-void-able, I will ah-dapt.” Amy nodded. “Become...better.”

Cullen absorbed this. “Unavoidable?”

“Hard. But. Will res-train un-till that time.”

“What time?” Cullen asked, getting a little frustrated with her evasiveness.

She half glared at him. “I am the daughter...of Patrick and Bridget McManus.” she very nearly growled. “I fight my battles as needed.”

“You haven’t answered anything.” Cullen pointed out, not deterred by her bluster.

“Argh.” She grunted at him. “Pick your battles. You don’t have to show up for every argument you're invited to.” she quoted. “There'll be battles… No ‘lusions there.” she stood again, approached him. “I ...in-tend. To fight when I must. I under-stand...con-see-qwen-ses. So. You just have ta decide… if that...is a fight...you wanna pick, with me.”

Cullen knew his nostrils were flaring as he took a deep breath. It wasn’t a threat...but… it was definitely a declaration that she was not and would not be caged. He instantly winced at his own mental image, and had to remind himself that they had done no such thing. They only worked to protect her better. 

She had essentially told him that he could not mistake her compliance for passivity. She was just picking her battles. While she wouldn’t challenge their decision out-right, that would not deter her from doing what she thought was necessary.

“Amy…”He said carefully. “The field is not safe.”

“Cullen.” she replied. “The _world_ z’not safe.” she spat the word ‘safe’ as though it were distasteful.

She stepped into his space and stared up at him—mostly because she had to. He was taller than her. Their positions did little to deter her, and it was here that he saw the barely contained fury peeking through that controlled facade.

Cullen felt lead settle in his gut. He knew Amy to be remarkably resourceful and surprisingly capable… if she did intend to fight him on something, it’d be a hard fight to win.

“My decisions stand.” He growled, crossing his arms over his chest. A way to draw away without sacrificing any dominance.

“Would not pre-zume other wise.” Amy murmured, mimicking his gesture with perhaps a little more slink than he had used.... He wondered if he looked half as uncaring as she did. ...there was no way he'd shimmied his shoulders as she had, though. No way.

Cullen sighed. “Then we are at an impasse.”

Amy nodded. “But...we under-stand.”

“Oh, we do.”Cullen grumbled. “The underlying threats have not going unnoticed.”

“Is not threat.” Amy snapped, suddenly very tired of the conversation. “I do not...ap-ris-shi-ate you thin-king I am ...frah-gile.”

Cullen’s face dropped in aghast shock. “No one’s saying you are!”

Amy rolled her eyes. “Could not even...tell me ‘bout Remedy.” she reminded. “And you.” she jabbed his chest with a finger. “Can't even...look at my face, un-less I chal-enge you.” Cullen felt himself wilt just a touch, because those accusations weren’t untrue. “Am not made of ...glass.”

“No one told you because we were all worried that this would happen.” Cullen argued, stepping into her space. “Storming the field won’t end well for anyone, much less you.”

Amy recoiled, staring at him in shock. “...said any-thing ‘bout ‘stormin tha field’??” They stared at one another, each pulling up short as they re-evaluated what had been said. “You’ve made it vehry clear.” Amy grumbled. “Don’t need’r want me there.”

“I’ve done no such—”

“S’fine.” little more than a single word, yet her voice was like a whip-crack echoing through the room... and Cullen suddenly remembered how much he hated that word when voiced by a woman. “Decis-yonz made, and I ah-bide.” she said it in a tone that conveyed that complying with the decision and enjoying the decision had nothing to with each other.

“Then why are we having this conversation?”

“B’cauz. I will make choi-ces. They will be moar con-ek-ted to con-shance than yur de-ciss-yons.”

Cullen blinked at that, removing the fear of her storming the field from his mind and focusing on her words.

“...ah.” he took a deep breath. “If you happen to be lead to the field, it will be because some need has called you there...not because you’re being belligerent.”

Amy nodded, her face still set in annoyance. She gave him a very tired glare. “Thought y’had a fight on yur hands?” Cullen looked away with a heavy sigh. “Why you always thinkin’ I’ma fight you?” her aggravation was momentarily pierced by something that could be concern, though Cullen wasn’t quite sure what she was concerned about.

“I don’t…” Cullen shook his head. “I don’t know... The likelihood of you staying away from the field is...foreign.”

Amy nodded. “Was com-fort.” she murmured. “But...time to grow.”

Cullen half scoffed. “There other places you plan on taking over?”

Before Amy could answer, there was a knock at the door. “Amy? It’s Jas.”

“Jas?” Culen queried, though it was more directed towards Amy.

“M’in.” Amy called.

‘Jas’ was one of the elves that served directly under Mother Giselle in the chantry. He was a scruffy haired city elf, that ended up being a runner between the kitchen, laundry, and Thren. Amy would have described him as gangly and underfed (which, she’d come to learn, was normal for city elves as opposed to well-kept elven servants), but eager to learn and equally eager to please.

“Ah..Sorry.” He said, actually ducking his head and bowing in on himself a bit. “Didn’t know you had company.”

“C’mander saw me here.”

“I see… well, uh, Mother GIselle has requested you set aside some time to speak with her.” He held up a hand, rushing to continued, “At your nearest convenience, of course. Madame Vivienne mentioned wanting to speak to you as well…” he said hastily, then paused, his dark eyes drifting sideways. “Though...she didn’t say that to me, so much as she said it around me.. “ he squinted contemplatively. “Or maybe at me…” His eyes suddenly widened. “I don’t really know if I was meant to tell you that part.”

Amy nodded, with as soft a smile as she could manage given her mood. “Be there n’a min.” He nodded, looking relieved. “ _Mythal’enaste_.”

He hovered in the doorway, looking heavenward before blurting out, “Oh! Uh… _Dareth_ shiral!”

“Yes!” she clapped in celebration of him selecting a decent elven sentence. 

He pumped his fist before scampering away.

Cullen blinked, looking between them through this exchange before settling a confused gaze on Amy. “I didn’t know you spoke elvish…”

“No one does. 'Sept Solas. I know...very little.” She motioned towards the doorway with her chin. “Jas’z in’tres-ted. I share.” she took a deep breath, still eying the door. “Shud go.” She murmured.

“I could walk with you.” Cullen offered.

Amy half smirked. “Best not. So much werk ta’do.

“I suppose you’re right..” He acknowledged, albeit grudgingly.

The two of them passed through the doorway, one after the other, before hovering awkwardly just outside.

Cullen wasn’t quite sure what he should do. Normally, he’d just return to the field, but...he wasn’t sue that anything had been entirely resolved between them. There were still more questions than answers, and while Amy seemed compliant she wasn’t content. Part of him assumed he should... fix it? Think about fixing it? Something? 

Another part of him—the soldier that couldn’t stand to have his flank exposed, no doubt—wanted to remain...to observe her and make sure she was a certainty and not volatile… Which, was unreasonable. She obviously wasn’t behaving irrationally. In fact, her decisions and thought processes (if a little scattered) were utterly logical. This didn’t eradicate the notion of her as a threatening possibility. Still...it felt...unfinished.

“Don’t wurry, C’mander.” Amy placated. “Won’t brawl n'tha Chantry.” she said this as she walked away from him, slowly making her way towards the Chantry.

He watched her back as she moved… stiff, but straight. Resolute. Her shoulders back, her eyes forward. She took the stairs one at a time, not rushing herself. He was so preoccupied studying her posture, he missed any opportunity to respond or call out a farwell….

Still feeling a heavy sense of restlessness, he shook his head and returned to the field.

She was right about one thing. There was still much work to be done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sips coffee* anyone wanna place bets on how this faux cold war will go? I'm sure I can get Varric on the books with some opinion....nah, it's probably nothing.


	26. Take me to Church

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always want to apologize so much for not cranking chapters out at a consistent pace. I need to say thank you, because you guys really keep me going! But then I feel bad for keeping you guys from the new chapter, so go! Go on! We have time for all this later!
> 
> oh, and uh...there are pictures of the Tues up on my strivingscribe tumblr :) Please do enjoy.

Solas did not sulk or stomp because such methods of expression were beneath him. However… he was in quite the sour mood, and no amount matured grace could disrupt that.  
  
He was only moderately irritated to find the two new elves—Magpie’s long lost clansmen—sitting inside the quarters they’d all been sharing while tending to Amy.  
  
“Solas?” Magpie, ever the keen eyes on her, focused on him for all but two seconds before realizing he was not quite as content as usual. She did not elaborate her question, only letting it hang in the air. Allowing him the option of an out…  
  
“Forgive me. I hope I am not interrupting. I must pack.”  
  
“Pack?”  
  
A continuation of the previous question, further focused.  
  
Solas drew a settling breath before reporting back. “I have been informed that Samuel along with myself, Sera, and the Iron Bull will be leaving tomorrow morning before first light.”  
  
He crossed the room, retrieving his pack from beneath the bed frame where he usually kept it when he was back in Haven.  
  
There was a beat of silence as he began placing items, mostly clothing, into the pack.  
  
“Does Amy know?”  
  
Of course, that would be Magpie’s first question.  
  
“I am not in charge of that.” Solas murmured, something he had heard Amy say at one point which Magpie had parroted.  
  
“Is there anything you’d like us to do while you’re away?” this came from the male elf—Tunan, Magpie had called him earlier.  
  
Solas half turned to stare back at him, expecting that to be some sort of glib form of sass…. but looking between the two newcomers, he saw only sincerity. He blinked rapidly before looking to Magpie who seemed… smug.  
  
“Yes, Hahren.” Magpie cooed, looking far too pleased with this circumstance. “Isn’t there _anything_ you might want us to do?”  
  
He narrowed his eyes, still not sure what any of this was about. “Other than keeping Amy safe? There’s little more that I could ask for.”  
  
“The little lady in the tavern that everyone gathers around?” Tunan asked with a neutral look on his face. He nodded. “It shouldn’t be too difficult.”  
  
“You might be surprised.” Magpie half grumbled. “Especially with the mood she’s been in lately.”  
  
“She has been relatively compliant, all things considered.” Solas reminded.  
  
He had expected opposition from Amy, same as the Commander, but… the breakaway to the stables notwithstanding, she had been a diligent patient. Even he couldn’t fault her for wanting to take care of her animal.  
  
“Yeah, maybe.” Magpie still seemed reluctant.  
  
“What?” Solas’s focus sharpened on her. “Have you noticed any inconsistencies?”  
  
Magpie’s mouth skewed sideways before she finally confessed. “It’s just… that song of her’s has gotten so much more aggressive.”  
  
“She’s been singing?” Solas couldn’t keep the surprise (and the twinge of betrayal) out of his tone.  
  
“No!” Magpie was quick to rebut his question. “I mean…” she lay her palm out on her chest and thumped it twice. “Her song.”  
  
He felt himself straighten, his arms go slack.  
  
Magpie’s eyes remained on him, pinning him in place. “You _know_ what I mean.”  
  
He blinked rapidly, trying to think of some way to plausibly explain away the implausible.  
  
“You mean that weird music that just follows her around?” this came from the female sibling—Tunen. “I mean, it’s not really common...but some mages with really strong magic can do something like that. I remember one of the old mothers used to do that around the littles—”  
  
“She isn’t a mage, though.” Magpie confided. “Or at least, she wasn’t till...before this whole mess with the breach.”  
  
“It’s also not something that everyone can hear.” Solas continued. “This...this music is unique to Amy. It is not entirely auditory, and…” he shook his head.  
  
“What?” Magpie asked. “What is it that you keep trying _not_ to say, that you want so badly to say to someone?”  
  
He sighed, looking at her. “I thought only mages could hear it.” Solas confessed. “Siheta, Elossa, Baxtien, they’ve all experienced it, and while you have responded to it.. I theorized that perhaps it wasn’t because you heard it so much as you were...reacting to it subliminally.”  
  
Magpie scrunched her lips up in a pout, glaring at him...though there was less anger and more resentment. “You could make that argument for Elossa with ease. She’s even sung with Amy, but anytime you ask her where she knows the song from she just says that it’s a song she’s always known, or some other absent minded dismissal.”  
  
Solas’s eyes dart between the two twins. “And the two of you hear it as well?” They nodded. “And you are not mages either.”  
  
“That’s assuming a lot.” Tunen said with a smirk.  
  
Solas met her eyes before looking to the bow slung on her back and the many throwing daggers on her belt. Tunan had propped the enormous sword he’d come in with against the wall, but there was no denying his muscular biceps. The boy's was wider than most elves Solas had seen... though if that had to do with training or nutrition, he could not tell. Still, the evidence of a swordsman was right in front of him.  
  
“Let people make their assumptions.” Tunan replied. “The best skill to have is the one that’s hidden.” He returned to his seated position against the wall, half reclining there. “So. Watch out for the woman. That all?”  
  
“And each other.” Solas murmured, letting them think they had effectively changed the subject.  
  
“That goes without saying.” Tunan murmured. “This music business is strange though. It’s fairly rare in magic-users, and someone who has no magic?” He shook his head. “...yet... to find that others can hear it or respond to it.”  
  
“Siheta says that where Amy’s from, magic is different. It’s all internal, with no external source, like…” she shrugged. “Like there’s no Fade….or, if there is, it’s locked away behind an internal veil.” she shook her head. “She explains it better than I do, but they have her running so many errands for Flissa and Adan just to justify her mobility as a mage that it’s hard to have a sit-down with her like we used to.”  
  
“Where is this woman from, exactly?” Tunen asked, confused and a touch repulsed by Magpie’s description of where Amy is from.  
  
“Don’t know. Not here.” was all she said, though Solas got the sneaking suspicion that she knew more than she was letting on.  
  
“That explains certain things…” Solas murmured, returning to stuffing his pack. “It also seems… that the concept of the self-renewing system would be more valid.” he relented begrudgingly.  
  
Magpie cocked her head just slightly before slowly murmuring. “Which means...observation would be better than abstinence…” she suggested. “Especially if it’s the sort of thing that helps to sustain her…” Magpie’s eye sharpened as Solas looked away. “What? What is it that keeps you from agreeing with Siheta?” Magpie felt her molars grind before muttering, “I swear, Solas, if this is a point of pride…”  
  
Tunan snickered and mumbled. “Solas. A point of pride.” Tunen joined in with her brother, the two of them giggling like four year-olds. Still, Magpie couldn’t quite fault the humor in the statement and even Solas was fighting a smirk.  
  
“It isn’t that...entirely.” Solas finally relented. “However…” he searched for the right words to say even as he began folding clothes for packing. “However, I am reluctant to relent my position with a subject so delicate.”  
  
“Please…” Magpie pleaded. “Don’t let Amy hear you refer to her as ‘delicate’.”  
  
“What sort of fool do you take me for?” Solas joked.  
  
“Firstly, I’ve no intention of taking you at all. Not until you clean up your act, at least.” she sniffed, attempting a haughty air. “And Secondly, the sort that might divert attention onto something else just to see how another would weather a storm.” Magpie put her hands on her hips. “Like how you happened to tell Sam and Cullen where Amy and I would be eating.”  
  
Solas’s eyes flickered in Magpie’s general direction before returning to the task of packing.  
  
Magpie let that continue without comment or confrontation for a moment before sighing. Her shoulders relaxed a touch, and she mentally reminded herself that this wasn’t a fight she wanted.  
  
“Still, I know that you’re genuinely worried. I just wish you wouldn’t deflect so much, because then we could address the actual problem.”  
  
Solas stalled, taking perhaps a touch too long to evaluate one pair of breeches that were very nearly ready to fall apart and crawl away on their own.  
  
“I’m just saying, when you’re concerned, I’m concerned.” Magpie continued, finally gaining a glance from him. “Mostly because you’re so damn slippery.” she grumbled. “I can peg the others and all that they’re concerned about.”  
  
“Can you now?” Solas asked, only a touch skeptical. Her insight had been fairly accurate. He had been able to semantically feint in order to throw her off here and there, but… it never worked for very long.  
  
Magpie shrugged. “Sam’s worried about Amy getting hurt. Cullen too, for the most part. Leliana’s worried about that, but mostly because she sees Amy as a resource. Sure, she wants to exploit Amy, but she'd rather keep her alive, and she's willing to fight to do it.” she let out a slow huff. “Josephine’s worried about how Amy will translate in a more grand arena. Bull… Bull’s worried that Amy’s gonna break his world… and Varric’s worried that the world will break Amy.” Her eyes narrowed. "Blackwall's harder to peg. He doesn't spend as much time around Amy as the others... He's worried about something..."  
  
Solas took a deep breath. “I like to worry about things from multiple angles. Suffice to say… There are many variables concerning Amy’s circumstance.”  
  
Magpie’s eyebrows twitched up. “Well… you’re not wrong.” Her eyes trained on the wooden wall to her left, as though she could map out her problems in the wood grain. It possessed no secrets as far as Solas was concerned, but whatever she saw there seemed to decide her. “Come on, Tues.” she said, looking between her twin friends. “Haven isn’t big, but you still need to know the in’s and out’s. Besides,” she smirked back at Solas. “the old man probably needs his rest.”  
  
“Always so thoughtful.” Solas muttered, raising a single eyebrow. She only wore a half smile, but it shined in her eyes in a way that...he wasn’t quite used to. Not that he hadn’t noticed it before now… It has been present more often than not lately. That look softened her taunts significantly.  
  
Magpie half sauntered-half skipped through the doorway like the precocious child she often was, while the twins seemed more befuddled. Their rounded eyes slipped back and forth between Magpie and Solas, regarding their clan-mate with shock and Solas with a strange form of...reverence? Their regard was new to him, as though they were waiting for instruction or permission of some sort.  
  
The male twin reacted first. With a shrug, he hefted himself up and took up space by the doorway, holding it open while his sister darted out after Magpie. He then hurried through himself, closing the door behind them. Leaving Solas to ponder this strange change between his and Magpie’s typically frigid encounters.  
  
Once the door was shut, Solas surveyed his traveling pack. He’d find no answers there, but it wasn’t going to fill itself.  
  
**~~~~~~**  
  
The room did not smell bad. The scent was odd because there was so little in the way of scent. It was absence of scent, only cold stone...which wasn’t fragrant in the least.  
  
Even so, Amy knew that this train of thought was most persistent because she was trying to convince herself of it. Perhaps the facts were more important at this stage.  
  
The room was longer than it was wide. Standing in the center of the room with her arms stretched out, Amy couldn’t quite touch the walls...but one hard lean to one side or the other, and she’d definitely have contact. Still, she could probably get away with a cartwheel and a half from the back of the room to the doorway.  
  
“As I said, it is rather small.” Mother Giselle reminded, in the way that matronly figures say ‘I told you so’ without actually having to say the phrase.  
  
Amy smiled. “Don’t nehheed space.” Amy said.  
  
The summons to the chantry had been a bit of a shock for her since her movements had been so closely guarded of late. It turned out Mother Giselle had rolled high on initiative, and was addressing the need for Amy to have a distinct space in the chantry.  
  
She had spoken at length about a place where Amy might stay, now that she was going to be there for most of her time. Somewhere out of the way, where she could be found and consulted privately...  
  
Amy had felt shell shocked upon hearing it. She knew this discussion would happen, of course, but any planning had been left to the four winds. With no concrete plans in place, it felt like a vague and distant wave, looming before it crashes into a beach all Day-After-Tomorrow-style.  
  
And so, Amy had felt detached when Mother Giselle began to discuss places she could stay during the day. Of course, Amy assumed she would need to be both accessible and out of the way. In the game, companions were just… around. They were usually in places they’d probably linger anyway.  
  
Of all the options given, Mother Giselle had mentioned this small room in the hall between the kitchens and linen wash in an absent fashion. Amy had seized upon this.  
  
Like any good Hufflepuff, Amy would be just beside the kitchens!  
  
It was perfect! Well… not perfect, but honestly. Being upset was one thing, but refusing to make the best of the situation you have is ridiculous.  
  
Mother Giselle had seemed somewhat surprised, but not at all taken aback enough that she didn’t simply nod and commit to making that room as presentable as it could be.  
  
“I did warn you…” Mother Giselle was saying from the doorway. “It is not as grand as… well, shall we say, Madame Vivienne’s area. Or even Josephine’s offices really. It’s about half that size.”  
  
“S’ perfect.” she’d assured. She stared up the length of the walls. “Don’t need much.” She reminded. Amy looked back to Mother Giselle, hovering just inside the doorway. “Sleep here?” she asked, pointing down.  
  
The woman laughed, albeit abruptly. “Of course not, child.” she shook her head. “You’d freeze!”  
  
Amy shrugged, “Been thru worse.”  
  
“I have spoken to Lady Montilyet concerning your sleeping quarters.” she paused, evaluating the words she chooses next carefully. “Evidently, it is Sister Leliana’s wish that you remain very close.”  
  
Amy hummed in acknowledgment. That was...well. Understandable, she supposed.  
  
“What sort of furnishings would you like?” Mother Giselle queried.  
  
Amy thought about it for a moment before signing. “Chair… sihm-pal table or desk…” she eyed the long walls. “Sheeeelves.” she shook her head. “Sparse.”  
  
“You’re not worried about offending chantry sensibilities, I hope.” Mother Giselle said with a small smile. “You know that you don’t have to adopt an austere taste simply because you reside inside the chantry?” that smile seemed almost coy.  
  
Amy smirked. “Sim-pel best for now.” Amy shrugged before opening the door and keeping it open for Mother Giselle to walk though. “ ‘Specially since… I still don’t know...what I’m doing.”  
  
Mother Giselle’s smile was sympathetic. “New roles take some adjustment. I’m sure everyone will understand.”  
  
As Amy closed the door to her new space, she felt a strange fluttery feeling in her stomach. It made her vision sway, and she found herself leaning rather heavily against the now-closed door.  
  
She felt Mother Giselle’s hand delicately rest against her shoulder. “You are still unwell.”  
  
“Comes and goes.” Amy murmured, closing her eyes for a moment before reopening them. She was hoping that she could focus on a single point to reorient herself.  
  
There was a pause as one of the servants, Amy couldn't tell which at the moment (from this vantage point especially) it was.

“Does this happen often?” Mother Giselle asked, her voice low. It was then that Amy realized she was keeping her voice down so that they wouldn't draw attention to themselves. A nice thought, but servants saw everything. It wasn't as if they wouldn't know her situation was rapidly changing, what with all the gossip and her routine changing so drastically. 

“Hazn’… not since…” Amy took a deep breath, feeling her ribcage expand to the point near pain. She held it for a scant second before letting that air filter out slow. “Since.. beeee-for tavern.” She took another breath before pushing away from the wall and willing her body to cooperate. Mother Giselle kept pace, giving her a surveying look from the corner of her eye.  
  
“That’s right. You were often given over to fits of weakness or dizziness before you began working regularly in the tavern.” Mother Giselle thought that over. “Is that something that typically happens to you when you are sick?”  
  
Amy considered her past life, restricting her memories to a simple survey of the facts before nostalgia and melancholy could pull her down.  
  
Typically, Amy slept _a lot_ when she was sick… but even when she had to push herself, she tended to run fevers and need frequent breaks for water and to gulp in oxygen. She’d never had any sort of vertigo… and even when she had experienced vomiting, it had been swift and not lingering.  
  
This sickness, if that’s what it was, was a different animal.  
  
“No.” she said simply. Mother Giselle hummed thoughtfully at that.  
  
“Then perhaps there is something here, something unique, that you’re reacting to.” Mother Giselle shrugged as they reentered the Chantry proper. “It could be a great number of things.”  
  
Amy didn’t make eye contact or comment on this. The last thing that she wanted was another person diagnosing her. Jaga only knew what a chantry mother would think of her.  
  
“And to think, your health had improved so much.” Mother Giselle sighed. “Even your speech was strengthening.”  
  
She was right, of course, and that was so disappointing. Amy’s physical condition before this attack had been damn near prime. Her speech, while still impaired was vastly improving as well. True, long words and vowel sounds still got her at times… but she could speak small words in short bursts all together and sound out the rest. She only hoped that she could recover any physicality she’d lost quickly.  
  
“Ah. Chancellor Roderick.” Mother Giselle said by way of greeting when the chancellor happened to walk by. He paused, clearly in a huff on his way to or from somewhere.  
  
“Mother Giselle.” His eyes landed on Amy, narrowing before surveying her carefully. “Miss Amy.”  
  
Amy had met the good Chancellor in passing twice before now, and both times he had regarded her with what she interpreted as… confused disdain.  
  
She nodded her head, dutiful in her regard for his position if not for his attitude. “Chan-sel-or.”  
  
“I am overseeing Amy’s permanent transition to the Chantry.” Mother Giselle informed him with a smile. Amy had to wonder why. It wasn’t as if Mother Giselle approved of Roderick’s position, or that she was beholden to dole out information to him.  
  
Still, at her words, the Chancellor’s chin tilted just to the left. A strange smile settled on his face; 'strange' for the simple fact that it was odd because Amy wasn’t used to seeing it. “That is a relief to hear.” he said, his posture relaxing if only a touch. “The incident on the field is irreprehensible, and the long hours you work..” he shook his head. “It’s a pity this Inquisition,” he spat the word, “has done little in the way of providing for its workers, and the rumors spreading about you are absolutely vile.”  
  
Amy winced.  
  
“You cannot possibly blame the Inquisition for that, Chancellor.” Mother Giselle chided in an almost grandmotherly fashion. “Any young lady who spends her nights in a tavern is bound to garner a bit of ill repute.”  
  
_That_ wasn’t news.  
  
Chancellor Roderick’s nose wrinkled in disgust. “Not _that_. Those rumors are infantile in comparison.”  
  
“What old bone are you guarding now, Roderick?” Sam grumbled as he sauntered up to them. He winked at Amy as a substitute for a greeting.  
  
“The heretical blasphemy your organization is spewing.”  
  
“Isn’t most blasphemy heretical by nature?” Sam poked with a smirk that only made Roderick’s scowl more severe.  
  
“This poor child has worked herself to the bone, first with the servants and then in your tavern, and for what? For you to parade her about as a false prophet!”  
  
“Haaah?” Amy looked between the two of them in horror.  
  
“She doesn’t even know what you’ve done, does she!”  
  
Sam had the good sense to look sheepish for a moment, but it changed to an almost begrudging humor as his eyes found Amy. “Well.. you have to admit, Charmer, there was another figure whose song changed the hearts and minds of the people.” A sheepish smile spread over his face. “Someone with power in her song...” his eyes wandered to one of the effigies of Andraste before meeting hers again.  
  
Amy stared at him, not quite understanding...until she did.

She recoiled. “No.” she growled. She put up both of her arms and crossed them like an X in front of her face. “No, no, no-no-no!”  
  
Chancellor Roderick’s posture straightened noticeably as he nodded in her direction. As though he were seconding the motion.  
  
“Ok, first off,” he pointed to the Chancellor who was opening his mouth, most likely to issue some furiously righteous rant. “this,” he made a circular motion to their surroundings, “isn’t _my_ anything. Not Haven, nor the Inquisition. If anything, I have been sequestered by madmen.” he took a deep breath. “And secondly, literally no one in the Inquisition instigated those rumors. Certainly none of the advisors, or myself, or Seeker Pentaghast.”  
  
“Sam.” Amy commanded, demanded, unyielding and furious though in a very quiet sort of way. Her mother would be _so_ proud.  
  
Sam, for his part, seemed to hold his breath for a second before finally letting it out and deflating with it. “Charmer, I swear, the Inquisition had no intention of drawing any parallels between you and Andraste—”  
  
Amy’s mouth fell open, hearing it nearly made her head spin. “geeeh.” she breethed in disgust.  
  
“but! But, when it did surface… well, it’s better that people think of you as saintly than as a whore, right?”  
  
“No!” Amy crowed. “Whore’s are...are honest! Is oldest pro-fess-shun! Straight for-ward! Most saints are...are...char-let-tons!” she pointed at him. “I… am an honest...girl!”  
  
Sam smirked, sheepish now that he was good and scolded. “Better an honest whore than a sideways saint?”  
  
Amy nodded. “Just...just cuz I’m diff-rent…” she shook her head, looking down as she crossed her arms tightly. “Don’t know whu-why I am, but I am… and just cuz I am, doesn’t mean… I’m touched or speh-shial or sig-nif-ih-cant.”  
  
“You’re right.” Sam smiled. “You’re significant and touched and special for a lot of other reasons.”  
  
Amy stomped a foot (which her mother would not have endorsed). “Don’t be nice wah-hen I’mad at’chu.” she grumbled, making him chuckle.  
  
“Damned if I do, and damned if I don’t.” Sam said, tossing his head back like the muscles in his name had just given out. “Look…” he grumbled. “I don’t know why you think this is an ‘Inquisition’ issue.” he said to Roderick. “The rumors started in the chantry, here, that day when Charmer was singing.”  
  
Amy winced, remembering the song she’d sung for Sam. Amazing Grace had been an emotional memory as well as a fragile wish that Sam would garner some inspiration from the words of the song. Amy had been right about the acoustics of the chantry, and because of those acoustics, she’d been heard by many in the building.  
  
“So, this concept of her returning to the chantry for shelter from rumors started by my sinister organization is a complete load of crap.” Sam crossed his arms over his chest. “Even you can’t deny Amy’s words and songs are powerful, because you certainly didn’t the entire time those rumors began brewing here, in-house as it were.”  
  
Chancel Roderick looked somewhat chastised, though his face puckered in a begrudging scowl. “I will not deny that the Maker has given her a great gift.” he said, and Amy marveled over how easily he surrendered those words. “What is so troublesome is the Inquisitions dash to allow those rumors to spread beyond this Chantry.”  
  
Sam rolled his eyes. “Because rumors are so easily controlled.”  
  
“They are, when your Nightengale decides they are detrimental and slanderous against _your_ cause.” Chancellor Roderick growled evenly.  
  
“Is too late now.” Amy grumbled, lifting a hand to her forehead. The crown of her head felt tense and heavy now. It made for a tightness around her eyes that caused her vision to blur slightly.  
  
“You ok, Charmer?” Sam asked, his tone softening as he took his focus off of Roderick.  
  
She sighed, the breath puffing her chest and shoulders up before they fell in a dramatic slouch. “Fine.”  
  
“Hm.” he murmured, not convinced. “Well. I wanted to let you know that we’d be leaving tomorrow.” Amy blinked up at him. “At first light, Bull, Sera, Solas, and I are… gonna be hiking up the Frostbacks a bit.” he said, a clever glint in his eyes. “Seeing about those precautions you mentioned, to better strengthen fortifications and all.” That sounded like a more casual parroting of something Cullen had said.  
  
So, they were scouting for Skyhold…  
  
“How looohng?”  
  
Sam shrugged. “Solas seems to think it shouldn’t take too long, since we’re such a small scouting party. Maybe two days. Three tops.”  
  
Amy’s eyebrows rose. “Guess he’d know.” she mumbled.  
  
There hadn’t been a lot in-game to gauge exactly how long the trek from Haven to Skyhold was… One source she’d read surmised that it’d taken the freshly-attacked fledgling Inquisition an entire month to get there on account of unprepared civilians and pack animals being in tow. At the same time, the Inquisitor had seen Corephyus reopen the breach and gotten down the mountain in what seemed like no time at all… though… there was really no telling how much of that was just a game mechanic.  
  
“Oi. Stop pouting.” Sam snipped. “We’ll remember to be careful and drink water and take breaks.” he overly exaggerated the list, dulling his voice a ‘yes mom’ sort of tone.  
  
She scowled at him. “An’ be kind. Solas doesn’t ...get on well wif Bull’n’Sera.”  
  
“No, he really does not.”  
  
“We hafta re-mem-ber t’be kind… to each other.” Amy reminded, sighing heavily. “World is so un-kind.”  
  
Sam looked directly at Chancellor Roderick. “It really is.” While this didn’t do anything to lessen Chancellor Roderick’s scowl, it didn’t mean the expression didn’t change at all. In fact, a strange sort of pensiveness settled on the Chancellor’s face. His eyes seemed to drift sideways.  
  
Sam had the softest smirk on his face that Amy had ever seen. It was at once teasing and comforting. In moments like these, he reminded her so much of Connor… Wretched beauties, those memories. Happy little glimmers that brought a tightness to her chest that she had to chase away before it rooted in too deeply.  
  
“And when you return, we will no doubt have Amy well settled.” Mother Giselle assured, stepping forward. With all of Sam and Chancellor Roderick’s posturing, Amy had very nearly forgotten about her.  
  
“Good to hear.” Sam said with a nod. His eyes rose towards the daunting chasm that was the chantry’s ceiling. “Guess I should pack and rest up for tomorrow.” he said, his voice both measured and forlorn.  
  
Chancellor Roderick sniffed. “A Herald’s work is never done.”  
  
Sam blinked, looking over at him with confusion puckering his brow. “Did you just make a joke?”  
  
Amy chuckled, more at the ridiculousness of the scenario than anything Roderick had said. Sam looked somewhere between curious and almost frightened, and Roderick, though still stiff, looked almost smug!  
  
“Sick. Burn.” Amy grunted.  
  
And somehow the tension was gone. Amy understood what it meant, because it had been one of the biggest parts of her life. She had been a mediator between her brothers, between her parents, between her parents and siblings, even between classmates. She knew what it was to hear about both sides and sap the tension with a touch of perspective.  
  
“We still have much work to do.” Mother Giselle reminded in that gentle way she had.  
  
“Indeed.” Chancellor Roderick agreed, though Amy still wasn’t sure exactly how the Chancellor occupied his time here. And before she could think of how to politely ask him this, he had left. Sam shrugged, waved goodbye before backing away, and then took his weary eyes with him to pack.  
  
“No rest for the weary.” Amy half sang the words, and was instantly disappointed and relieved.  
  
It was the strangest sensation. She felt guilty for singing against Solas’s instructions, and at the same time, there was an almost flash of comfort in her muscles.  
  
...curious.  
  
A million facts about placebo effects and psychosomatic coping mechanisms ran through her mind. All things she didn't want to stop and squint at…  
  
“Go and gather your things, child.” Mother Giselle instructed before starting off on her own tasks.  
  
Amy didn’t have much in the way of things, really. But she could take the time to find Solas and Magpie and Varric and let them know that she was being moved.  
  
She found Solas staring at his own packed bag, though it appeared the bag had been taken care of for quite a while. Solas was simply staring at the receptacle as though he could somehow scry through it. His attention snapped to her as she entered the room.  
  
"Amy." It was more of a greeting or acknowledgment of her presence really.  
  
He took a breath, and she waited. It was the perfect definition of their relationship, really

“Solas.” Amy prompted, at last garnering some much-needed eye contact. “Say it.”

The corner of his mouth twitched upward before he began. “I have been considering your condition, both what I know now and anything I can garner of your previous state…” Amy held her breath waiting for whatever travesty waited just around the river bend. “While I will continuously advise caution in all things, I do not think it would be terribly detrimental to your health if you were to sing again.” 

Amy felt her eyes grow wide, while tears stung at the edges of her vision. She let out a tiny half sob of breath before hiding her face in her hands.

Before Thedas, music had been a constant in her life. She woke up to it, she lived her life to it, she went to sleep to it. Driving to and from work, at the dojo, even alone in her home… music was constantly part of her environment.  To the point that she had no idea how crucial it was to her reality.

If you would’ve asked if Amy fancied herself much of a singer, she would’ve laughed off her response. The truth was, she sang constantly, she embraced music in every eternal spec of her essence… But Bridget McManus’s utilitarian world view had skewed her daughter's estimations. Singing was not what she did on a professional level, and she was not acknowledged by any peers, therefore it wasn’t a factor.

Not there. Not back home. But in Thedas...

“Amy.” Solas’s voice was tentative. A careful hand on her shoulder, his concern making her face him even with tears in her eyes.

The door creaked open, Varric barging his way in—and it was his place too, so why shouldn’t he?

“Whoa, there, Chuckles. What’d you say to her?” he worried, drawing close.

Amy huffed out a laugh as best she could, shaking her head.

“Only that she should not feel a need to constrain herself...if she desires to sing.”

Varric’s smile held a hint of, ‘what are we going to do with you?’. “Been holding it in there, eh, Charmer?”

Amy took a deep breath and let it out in a near whistle. “So luk-ee. Movin’ bak to chant-ry today. Woulda eh’noyed the piss outta ya.”

Varric chuckled. “Seems like a small price to pay.” he said with a smirk. “Come on. Chuckles and I can walk you back.”

“Will we?” Solas asked, with an arched eyebrow. He didn’t offer any resistance when Varric placed a gentle hand at the small of her back to lead her outside again.

He could be that way...compliant but still salty about.

… Maybe he wasn’t Canadian...maybe he was English.

“You complain, but you know…” Varric began, with his best shit-eating grin. “It’s a nice day for a song.

Solas rolled his eyes but was still grinning.

“How ‘bout it, Charmer? You got a good song in you?”

Amy knew a good prompt when she heard one.

“There's a line where the sky meets the sea and it calls me! But no one kno~ows, how far it go~oes.” she was only too happy to belt that to the open sky.“All the time wondering where I need to be is behind me. I'm on my ow~wn, to worlds unknow~wn.” Amy did a happy little twirl before half skipping forward. “Every turn I take, every trail I track, is a choice I make, now I can't turn back, from the great unknown where I go alone, where I long to be…” She took a deep breath, scanning the horizon and finding the lazy moon on the horizon. “See her light up the night in the sea, she calls me! And yes I kno~ow that I can go!” It felt so good to breathe deep, like a much-needed stretch. “There's a moon in the sky and the wind is behind me, soon I'll know how far I'll go~o!” For a moment, there was nothing but the echo of her voice as it rang out into the open sky.

“Well, well, well, sounds like someone’s got a bit of her own back.”

Amy knew her smile was radiant through the warmth of the blush on her cheeks and the responding smile Magpie gave her.

“I thought you were taking your clan mates on a tour.” Solas queried in a way that was both a statement and a question.

“She did. Turns out Haven is tiny.” Tunen said with a shrug. Her brother only smirked at this. “It was worth it to come, even if all we were to receive was that song.”

“Indeed.” Tunan droned in a husky timbre. “Your voice is a marvel.”

Amy felt her blush intensify at their genuine praise. She bent slightly at the waist in a modest bow. “Thank. You.”

Magpie smirked and the twins exchanged baffled looks. Amy was oblivious to this interaction, but Varric and Solas could tell Amy’s behavior confused them. The girl flinched back, a sour expression on her face but her brother shook his head, before cocking it to the side. They looked to Magpie, who gave them both a smug grin. The twins weren't used to shows of respect, especially not from humans. While Tunen thought it could be a joke, Tunan was certain that wasn't it...but was still perplexed to see such behavior at all.

Amy came upright at this point, reaching for Magpie. The slip of an elf darted forward, looping her arm with Amy’s as if she’d done it all her life. “Where are we off to now?”

“Chant-tree.”

“Amy is being moved there.” Solas informed, his voice staid.

“Really…?” Magpie sounded… hesitant.

“No worries.” Amy said. “Weh...wheel… we will… find a place.” she comforted.

“All four of us?” this was Tunan, the brother, who asked.

“Whoa...all three of you elves are just going to shadow her now?” Varric asked.

“That is our intention.” Tunan responded, seemingly so nonchalant. “We’ve little desire to be separated from Magpie after so long, and...after everything..” he heaved a sigh.

Amy’s free hand patted at her own throat as she felt a lump swell there. Magpie had never spoken of the party of hunters she had come here with, and no one asked her about it. Ever. As Amy felt Magpie’s forehead brush against her shoulder, she made a show of combing her bangs back before nodding.

“All four.” she announced as if it were obvious. Of course. That had been the plan all along.

“I wonder how the chantry will feel about that.” Solas mused.

“No in-tent-shun to ask.” Amy murmured, making Magpie chuckled.

“That’s what I like about our Charmer.” she said, seeming significantly brighter than she had only seconds ago. It was easy to assume that she had been referring to Amy’s blatant disregard for the chantry… but really it was more ambiguous. Really… Magpie just liked how much better she felt after speaking with Amy. She just had a way of making things feel… “Consistently better.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally! 
> 
> Thank you to all the commenters and those who left kudos and anyone who left likes and such on strivingscribe. Because it really kept me going. You guys are awesome.
> 
> Oh, this is such a relief! I swear, I've been sitting on bits of this chapter for what feels like ages. And it has been! It's been ages. But first finals, and then moving, and struggling with financial aid, and physical therapy, and family visits, and D&D, and I just... I just got out of the habit of writing. And I'm really sorry about that guys. 
> 
> And every time, every time! I would look at this chapter and feel like it wasn't good enough to post. And the longer I went without posting, the more pressure I put on myself to do more with this chapter =..= My self-esteem might be self-defeating, but at least there's someone out there I can defeat. 
> 
> And I feel really horrible if I don't reply to your comments before I post a chapter. I honestly just don't feel like I deserve the love I get for this fic, and that really stops me from writing... and it just won't do. So, I'm doing things a little differently now. 
> 
> I have a steady schedule now. I'm going to keep to it. So... hopefully, it won't be too long before I pop my head back up again :| I hope you liked the new chapter, and I'll see you guys when I see you.


	27. Between Niflheim and Muspelheim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amy's magic blows up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a big bang, you guys. I don’t even want to linger too much here, because it’s kind of a big deal.
> 
> Hey :) if you like what I’m about and you want to help me put my cat in a sweater, you could totally follow my tumblr (strivingscribe) and heart some entries :3 That’d be cool of you.
> 
> And hey…I love you :)

Everything that had transpired beforehand seemed inconsequential.

 

The tedious occupation of hours, or the effort to occupy hours, the fight with Cullen and their subsequent peace, tending her horse, receiving her “order” from Seggrit, returning once to sing to the mages and the soldiers, Samuel’s return. All of it was nothing.

 

A sharp scream cut short, like the aftermath of an echo in a canyon and her body was rocketing across the frozen lake. She lost her breath, the wind knocked out of her as she slammed into the rock on the other side of the lake.

 

In that moment, aside from the warning of her scream, the valley of Haven stood still.

 

The soldiers still weren’t sure what had happened, and everyone held their breath as they surveyed their surroundings. It all happened so quickly, everyone was standing around, gawking and wondering why they were suddenly Charmer-less.

 

Amy came up for breath on her hands and knees, gasping and panting as though she’d just fought for her life. Squeezing her eyes shut, it was bright, too-too bright! She could barely hold herself up, her scalp felt as though it would rip away from her skull, as searing cold and frigid fire leaked through her flesh.

 

She heaved, vomiting into the snow at the base of the cliff. Once. Twice. She stopped counting after the fourth dry heave.

 

She tried to push away, to crawl away from the smell of bile. It hurt. Hurt so much.

 

Her mind was on fire, stories and memories from long ago melding and echoing inside her. Her head of her heart, it didn’t matter. Everything was Muspelheim and Niflheim.

 

“I must not fear.” she choked out. “Fear is the mind-killer. The little black death.” the words were surprisingly easy to say, even though her mouth felt so raw. They stampeded out, stumbling into a rushed line. “I will face my fear. I will let it pass through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain."

 

Each shift of her weight was a new agony. Her hand shot out into the clean snow, she shoved into her mouth then spat the cool water of it out. She did this with every shift, hoping to quell the fire in her throat.

 

Her skin was full of electric pins and needles, like experiencing an allergic reaction or feeling quickly returning to a long-dead limb… It was everywhere, the feeling was too much, and the light burnt her eyes. Everything. Everything. Everything.

 

Everything except the fingers of her left hand. There was no feeling there, in the offending digits that had gotten her into this atrocity.

 

She yelped when she felt a rope-burn on her bicep. She tried to help (or at least, she tried not to hinder), because she knew it was not a rope, only Magpie’s grip.

 

Magpie had sprinted for her, hauling her into the shade under the dock that was on the other side of the frozen lake. She propped Amy against one of the wooden posts.

 

“What was that?” Magpie asked, too scared to swear or bluster around the question.

 

Amy only whimpered. “The mark.” she panted. “I touched Sam’s mark.”

 

Amy heard rhythmic clinking, and she knew that Cullen was running towards her—knew by the sound of his armor and the smell of him… which...now that she thought about it, it was strange to know his smell when he was still so far away.

 

Far away.

 

“Sam.” Amy murmured, finally cracking her eyes open. She kept her head down, blessing the shade this rickety dock provided.

 

She hid herself here in the dark. She had to. She saw too much. The snow was blistering white like bone bleached in a desert. She kept her gaze down, in the ice of the lake. The dark of the deep ice was comforting. The patterns there fractured into fractals of navy, cerulean, and cobalt. Just as hypnotic as the patterns in the snow, but easier to be lost in without fear of scalding.

 

And she could see Sam, still sitting, dazed and delirious as he gaped into the open air.

 

“Siheta. Solas.” Amy said. “Get them.”

 

Magpie’s eyes widened and she nodded, launching herself into a full run back across the ice.

 

“Don’t touch her.” Amy heard her say as she passed Cullen.

 

Amy flung an arm around the post clinging to it in desperation. If she didn’t keep a hold of it, she would melt, melt here just outside the reach of the wretched sun only to refreeze tonight. Or within seconds. A million thoughts and a million memories coalesced and raced through her mind.

 

She realized, both absently and absent, that there were too many sensations to focus on. She needed to breathe properly and pull her focus. Channel herself.

 

Cullen was close now, and a part of her was very afraid. What had the mark done to her? Would it upset him? Would those old Templar sensitivities to magic and magic users trigger something?

 

She nuzzled her brow against the sturdy post, praying to gods she didn’t believe in and wondering which she could. “The evil that men do lives after them, The good is oft interred with their bones.” she murmured to herself.

 

There were some monologues that stuck with her. She’d had a crush on a boy named Phillip in high school. He’d been a theater geek, proving that charisma wasn’t a dump stat. She remembered his Mark Anthony...

“When that the poor have cried, Caesar hath wept! Ambition should be made of sterner stuff.” She wished that she were made of “sterner stuff”. As it was, it seemed that every situation sent her into a tailspin. She could barely stand herself.

 

Her scalp felt so tight! Her spare hand reached for the tie that held her braid taunt and snapped it in one pull. She shook her head, the fingers of her right hand forking against her scalp, reveling in both the strange tension and the loosening—it had been ages since she’d worn her hair down!

“O judgment! thou art fled to brutish beasts, and men have lost their reason.” she whimpered.

 

“Amy.” Cullen’s voice did not soothe her, though she was certain that was what he was trying for.

 

“Bear with me; my heart is in the coffin there with Caesar, and I must pause till it come back to me.”

 

It was not the response he was looking for. She heard the creak of his knees, the stretch of hide, and the brittle give of ice as he sank onto one knee next to her.

 

“Look at me.” He pleaded, and it hurt to hear it. Hurt to hear the fear in his voice.

 

“Fear is the mind-killer.” she whispered. Her eyes slowly adjusted to the shade they were in, but that wasn’t the real problem. Her focus tended to over-focus, if that was a thing.

 

Her eyes skittered to his, not missing his sharp intake of breath and the lean towards her as he peered into her face, but focusing intently on the irises of his eyes. She could see all the honey gold, the ochre, the tawny gilt and browns.

 

“I see the lion in you.” she whispered, leaning towards him as well. She was aware of his mouth slightly open and his eyebrows ticking up in surprise, but not because she was _seeing_ it. Or was she? No. His eyes were what she was seeing.

 

She felt the scent of frost, heavy, burning the back of her throat, her eyes widening fractionally. “Bax.” she whispered before Bax fade stepped near the end of the dock with a wet smack and the aplomb of a raging druffalo.

 

“Don’t touch her.” He warned, and Amy did not so much see Cullen turning to glare at Bax as she felt it... But she did see it...or...or was aware of it? It was so difficult to process!

 

“Where is the stillness of wood? Of stone? Of crystal? Of metal?” Now, Amy felt as though the words were whining out of her weary throat. “All this noise. All this life. Is pain. We sense the power in this place. Power enough to destroy us. To end the pain. To be still. Again.”

 

Bax stared at her for a long second. “That is not as encouraging as I’d like.” he muttered under his breath.

 

“Sam.”

 

“Sam’s fine, Amy.” Bax assured, stepping closer and yet still keeping his distance. She didn’t know what he was looking for, only that he was looking at her and in a very different way than he had before. He was searching.

 

“No.” Amy whispered.

 

Sam was not fine. Sam was in shock, not medical shock but shock nonetheless. Even with Cassandra at his side, he was barely responsive, still sitting on the ice, a useless lump, like fuzz on furniture.

 

“Amy.” Bax’s voice was taut. “Amy, what are you doing?”

 

Her focus shifted, across the ice. To Sam. She needed to tell him she was alright, even if she wasn’t. That she would be fine, even if there was no certainty that it was so. They both needed to believe that.

 

“I have crossed the horizon to find you.” she sang. Sam, started, jerking back as he looked up at her. “I know your name.”

 

His eyes widened and she was suddenly very close to him, closer than she was to Cullen.

 

“They have stolen the heart from inside you,” she continued, aware of Cassandra springing back. “But this does not define you.” she reached forward, grasping his hand— the hand with the mark, and he didn’t snatch it away even with what had happened. Shock, most likely. “This is not who you are.” she assured him. “You know who you are.”

 

“...Amy?” he asked. Obviously still in shock, though Amy wasn’t sure why.

 

“Get away from him!” Cassandra commanded.

 

“Cassandra, don’t!” Sam barked back, which was probably the only thing saving Amy from a shield-bash.

 

“Maker’s...what in…” Varric, why and how was Varric even here? It wasn’t that the concept of him on the field was implausible, but Amy had never seen him there.

 

“Amy!” Bax’s voice was strained, urgent. Amy looked at him, seeing him… Seeing him under the dock across the lake.

 

Across the lake from where she stood beside Sam, except that she wasn’t beside Sam…

 

Amy’s eyes grew, suddenly surprised that she wasn’t in as much pain or having half the trouble focusing as she had been only seconds before.

 

“Is that you?” Cullen’s grim tone demanded to be heard. With one knee still planted on the ice, making to rise and yet still. Still deciding on which action to take, yet action was imminent in his intent.

 

Amy looked across the ice, because she didn’t know what he was seeing.

 

There, crouching near Sam on the other side of the lake, was… a figure. Even from here with her senses out of control, she could see that it was a woman, a woman made of something that was not smoke or sand or ash and yet it moved like those things, at least at its edges...it was somehow not quite solid but very present.

 

It was a shade of teal so dark it nearly wasn't fair to call it teal, and it appeared almost metallic in the light. The figure stood and turned, facing them... While it looked similar to Amy it wasn't quite right. The point of the nose and jaw were too sharp, the face too oval and not round enough. Cheekbones that could hurt a body.

 

"Mother." Amy breathed. It looked like her mother. Enough that Amy's heart ached.

 

"It _is_ Amy." Bax said. "It's like... like magic, but not like _our_ magic. It's like... a piece of Amy that's outside herself." Bax elaborated. "When I first arrived, it was like it was broiling around her incessantly clamoring, and then it began to shift when her focus shifted to Sam.

 

"It's ok, Sammy." the apparition soothed, though Amy was afraid that it would be anything but soothing.

 

Sam took in a shuddering breath, which Amy saw and heard though there was no way to explain the physics of that.

 

"Blessed Andraste." Amy wasn't sure who had said it, but it was one of the soldiers near Cassandra. At least she assumed he was, since Cassandra relaxed her crouch a touch and peered at the figure with more curiosity than wrath. “It’s Andraste.”

  
"Fear is the mind-killer." Amy murmured.

 

Two things occurred to her simultaneously.

 

Firstly, in a state of fear, she would always take comfort from her parents. Even if they could not help her, if they had no answers, if they were just as lost as she, their presence was a comfort.

 

Secondly, all of her efforts to distance herself from Andraste weren't going to work. It seemed to be the only way people could identify her without feeling threatened. This tied into another observation... dressing herself in their myths might be the best way to ensure her survival in a society that was taught to inherently fear magic.

 

“Amy, listen to me.” Baxtien ordered.

 

She looked at him.

 

“Are you in great pain?”

 

“It’s not as bad as before.”

 

He nodded. “As near as I can tell, that…” he pointed to the figure across the lake while not looking away from Amy. “that is a manifestation of your magic.”

 

“But how did it manifest?” Cullen asked.

 

“I touched Sam’s mark.” Amy said. “It exploded.”

 

“And it broke through the barrier that’s around your magic.” Bax breathed. “The process of the body acclimating to magic… it isn’t pleasant...at least, not always. It varies from person to person, but usually a mage’s body gradually adjusts to the magic that moves through them. The process is gradual, naturally ...well, typically. But this is...different.”

 

“You’re saying Amy’s magic is moving through her now.”

 

Bax was nodding. “When this,” he motioned to the woman on the other side of the ice. “manifested, the pain you felt wasn’t as harsh, yes?”

 

Amy nodded. Bax turned, looking back across the lake at the figure.

 

“Because you found a way to channel the magic into the physical world, outside of you.” Bax’s tone was filled with awe and a touch of speculation. It was obvious that he wasn’t sure of that, because he wasn’t sure how magic and Amy and Amy’s magic were functioning (separately or together). “But how?”

 

“I sang.” Amy reminded.

 

Bax’s eyes widened as her spun to gale at her. “Of course! Your power has always been in your voice!”

 

Her legs were folded awkwardly, half beneath her. Her body gave a flounce as she tried to use them, straightening one, then folding it again, before shifting her weight, utterly upright.

 

“The man in black fled across the desert, and the gunslinger followed.” Amy barely recognized her own voice, it was so laden with strain. She tried to focus again, this time on what Bax was saying. If the power was loose, and her body wasn’t used to it…

 

Her “power” was… loose? She needed to center herself, refocus, find a way to bear up under the strain.

 

...the usual.

 

Cullen stood, still partially crouched, his hands out but at a distance. “How are we supposed to help her if we can’t touch her?” He demanded, glaring at Bax.

 

“It could possibly hurt her just as much to be touched as it would hurt us to touch her.” Bax countered.

 

She needed something….

 

“Did you ever know that you're my hero,” The song was soft from the pain around her eyes and the constrictions of her chest. She planted one foot on the ice, cringing as she shifted her weight onto it. “And everything I would like to be?” She took a deep breath, then swiftly drew up, in a heavy squat now but at least she was on her feet. “I can fly higher than an eagle, For you are the wind beneath my wings.”

 

“Up.” The tone was absolute.

 

Bax leapt away, ending up half behind Cullen on the other side of the dock. Amy tried to obey, but still was crouching as she leaned heavily against the post.

 

“That is...most unsettling.” Bax determined. Cullen now stood upright with a hand carefully placed on his sword hilt.

 

Another figure, this one a towering male.

 

“Da.” Amy breathed, weirdly comfortable with her father’s visage.

 

“Stand up properly.” He commanded again, and Amy took jagged steps forward, keeping her hands against the post as she straightened out, using the post to push herself into an upright position.

 

Again, the pain had lessened, and now her body felt as though she’d pulled or strained so many muscles. The day after a marathon, the hardest day. The day you struggled to do everything, but you made yourself, because it was the only way to get better.

 

“When you learn how to suffer you suffer much less.” She reminded as she stared at the wood grain. “Thich Nhat Hanh.”

 

“Test your joints, assess the pain.” Her father’s voice has been a fading memory, but now...it was as if there had been no separation. “What do you need to do?”

 

“We… we need to get back.” She said leaning forward until she could prop herself against another post. This one, farther out on the ice. She made to rise again, but even using her arms to support herself against the post, it felt impossible.

 

She could remember things now that she’d forgotten even before crossing over to Thedas. She remembered falling off her horse for the first time, falling off a bike, falling off the monkey bars, falling and scraping her knees…. falling, falling, falling, and the pain of those falls.

 

She remembered her mother’s smile and her father’s gentle hands. Her eyes landed again on the figure across the ice. Not her mother, but herself. In the visage of her mother, because she needed that. “Focus on your goal, be aware of your own physicality. Move forward.” her father’s words in her father’s voice, a memory made manifest because she needed it.

 

She leaned away from the post, no longer propped up. The pain was manageable, but she couldn’t lock her knees. She tested them, bending into more of a boxer’s stance. She drew her elbows tightly to her sides, her wrists rolling so that her palms were up. After a deep breath, she clenched her open hands into fists.

 

“Go.”

 

Her right arm came up in a block, the gesture automatic, breath gusting out of her.

 

“Again.”

 

This time the left arm came up while the right returned to a resting position.

 

“Step.”

 

Her right foot drew back, a better fighting stance for what she specializes in.

 

“Forward.”

 

Amy realized then that her awareness was…. different. Expanded. She had her eyes trained forward, so she could still see the figure across the lake, and the soldiers not sure what was happening or what they should do. Mages were filing through the ranks as well, approaching the frozen lake to see what was going on.

 

She was also aware that the figure of her father was not just beside her, urging her on, but also doing this routine with her. It shouldn’t have been shocking for a multitude of reasons. It wasn’t as if her father didn’t know these drills, after all, but of course, this wasn’t her father. It was her. Their movements were seamless because there was no ‘they’, only her.

 

It occurred to her then, that with enough focus… she could be aware of many things at once from many perspectives and all of them were technically hers...because her “magic” was no longer bound up inside of her.

 

“Flowing through all, there is balance.” she recited. “There is no peace without a passion to create. There is no passion without peace to guide.” she felt another wave of blistering cold followed by heat. She breathed through it, shifting forward again. “Knowledge stagnates without the strength to act. Power blinds without the serenity to see.” she rose, standing normally, upright. “There is freedom in life. There is purpose in death.” Her elbows returned to her side, her palms up as she breathed deeply, experiencing the pain and letting it go even while more waves built inside her. “I am the fulcrum. The giver and the taker.”

 

And she began to walk forward. It wasn’t easy, but it wasn’t as hard as it had seemed moments ago.

 

Magie broke through the ranks with both Solas and Siheta behind. Solas scanned the situation from the masses before his eyes landed on Amy. Siheta sauntered forward, eyeing the apparition of Amy that took the form of Amy’s mother. She circled it, critically evaluating it even as she bent to help Sam into a standing position.

 

Amy spoke again, her words echoing in both of those metallic manifestations of her.

 

"My Mind is my power, my power is my Mind.” she murmured, another long-forgotten moment glaring to life. “When uncorrupted by other elements, my mind becomes my purest power."

 

“I think she has it… mostly.” Bax said, still somewhat behind Cullen. Cullen had risen to slowly follow Amy, though he was still at a distance. “This would be easier if…” Bax eyed Cullen for a moment before asking, “Commander, would you say that it’s better to ask for forgiveness or permission?”

 

Cullen halted and careened to glare back at him. “Why?”

 

Bax sighed. “No reason.”

 

Again, Amy felt the bitter sear of frost in the back of her throat, and then Bax snapped out of existence, appearing across the lake near Siheta.

 

“Did he just…” Cullen began before his expression boggled into confusion. “It’s impossible to fade-step that far.” he assured himself, though the evidence was dictating otherwise.

 

“Honestly, once you’ve created a compromising shield of warmth and you understand balanced propulsion…” Bax’s defense seemed to ebb before he shook his head. “It’s not that difficult.”

 

“Quite.” Siheta seconded, though her eyes remained on the apparition. It felt to Amy as though the voices were all around her...but she and Cullen still stood separate from the crowd.

“What has happened here?” Solas asked, forcing attention back to the matter at hand.

 

“Amy touched Sam’s mark, and when she did… There was this explosion?” Bax said and asked at the same time. It wasn’t that he didn’t have faith in Amy’s ability to grasp what happened, it was that he didn’t know if that was the correct term for what had happened.

 

“That…” Sam muttered, dazedly staring at Amy as she approached. He nodded. “That.” he finally concluded, still not able to fully engage with what had happened and was happening.

 

“She flew across the lake and she couldn’t stand.” Magpie was saying as Solas took measured steps forward. It was like he thought this apparition was some wild halla, and he were afraid to spook it. Or that it wasn’t a halla, but a demon, ready to lash out. “She was in a lot of pain, and she couldn’t see or do anything really, I mean, except retch up everything she’s eaten for a week.”

 

“All that is gold does not glitter” Now that they were this close, the three voices in tandem sounded… strange. They echoed off each other and flowed in perfect sync. “Not all those who wander are lost;” The eyes of both specters as well as Amy’s eyes bore into Solas as they said this. He froze, his eyes on the nearest—her mother.

 

Amy knew this could not continue. She could not divide herself this way, even if there was pain in it.

 

“Amy?” Cullen’s voice was soft, as though he were afraid she would spook.

 

“What is she doing?” Cassandra asked, stepping closer. Her eyes were on Amy now.

 

“The old that is strong does not wither.” She looked at the figure of her father, and he walked behind her and then into her space, and she jolted as that energy siphoned back into her body. As his form dissipated, she tried to reimagine its shape. Mostly because she wasn’t sure if she could contain this and still function. His form changed, encasing her like armor that fit like a second skin before fading entirely. “Deep roots are not reached by the frost.”

 

She stumbled forward, but righted herself. She panted for a second, before reminding herself of proper breathing techniques. Then, she walked. Again. She was getting close.

 

“These are part of her.” Bax said in a way that conveyed even he knew it was needless to explain that.

  
“From the ashes, a fire shall be woken,” Amy continued, her pace stilted at first before she managed to even it out into something that felt more natural. “A light from the shadows shall spring;” she was finally able to see their faces with her own eyes. “Renewed shall be blade that was broken. The crownless again shall be king.” she said, finally standing mere paces away from the image of her mother.

 

The face contorted in sympathy. “I wish I could be with you, my Dove.” she said.

 

Amy swallowed past the grief and half laughed. “You are with always me, Mother.”

 

With that, she extended her upturned palms. Her mother smiled, and took her hands before walking into her space. The heat that flashed through her had a frigid cold on its heels. Amy was momentarily stunned by it, until she reminded herself that she’d need to focus and determine its course.

 

That energy wrapped around her torso, and then branched out of her back, rooted in her shoulder blades and rib cage before arcing up into enormous wings. They gave a single flap, and Amy felt as though somehow they were holding her up, because her legs felt stiff and dead while her torso felt heavy and sluggish. She swallowed and sobbed out jagged breathes before she remembered how to breathe.

 

“....just like Sailor Moon.” Magpie murmured.

 

Amy laughed, bright and bell-like. If Sailor Moon’s transformation was this painful, that dumpling-head never would’ve done it again.

 

Her hands and feet felt deadened. Her knees and shoulders were on fire, but it was a pulsing warmth instead of the galvanizing sear it had been before. Her torso felt like spearmint….

 

“Amy?” Solas asked, hesitantly stepping forward. “Are you in control?”

 

Amy’s eyes popped open, startling those in front of her. The irises of her eyes were glowing, making them a vibrant teal. "My Mind is my power, my power is my Mind.” she repeated, her voice droning. “When uncorrupted by other elements, my mind becomes my purest power."

 

Magpie leaned up, drawing very close behind Solas. “Please fix her.” she pleaded in a stage whisper. Solas only grimace. Amy wasn’t certain if his reaction was in response to Amy’s condition or due to Magpie’s proximity to him.

 

“She doesn’t need to be fixed.” Siheta assured. “She just needs to adapt.” she walked forward, drawing closer to Amy’s left side. “Amy, I’m going to touch you, and you’re going to tell me how it feels.”

 

“Right now? In front of everyone?” This was Tunan, sarcastic as ever. In the short time that he and his sister had spent around Amy, she’d come to enjoy his biting wit.

 

“Ha. Ha.” Varric grumbled. “Time and place, kid.”

 

Siheta set her hand over the top of Amy’s head. Amy hissed a breath in.

 

“Tight.”

 

She put her hand against Amy’s cheek.

 

“Hot.”

 

Another hand on her shoulder.

 

“Hot again.”

 

She set her hand against Amy’s back, between her shoulder blades.

 

Amy shuddered. “Cold-cold-cold.” This continued, with Siheta proding or simply laying her hand against several spots… What was strange was that the sensations changed. A spot that had been hot on the first encounter, it was sharp or tight or cold on the next.

 

Siheta drew her hand back, staring at the palm of her hand.

 

“Anything?” Solas asked. Siheta met his eyes as she stared over Amy, then she shook her head.

 

“Huh.” Bax murmured. “So, it might be safe?”

 

“For the person who touches her? Yes.” Siheta determined. “Amy still feels the discomfort.”

 

Solas’s hand skimmed the air around Amy’s head and shoulders. “The magic is all around you, and yet there is little substance to it… I wonder.”

 

“Wonder later.” Tunan said. “Lets get her back to the chantry.”

 

Amy groaned. It felt like it had taken hours just to cross that lake. She took a step forward, and then another. Walking up the incline, slight as it was, was still such a chore.

 

Words gushed out of her mouth, to have anything to focus on except the strain on her body. “The only verdict is vengeance; a vendetta, held as a votive not in vain, for the value and veracity of such shall one day vindicate the vigilant and the virtuous."

 

“Easy there, Charmer.” Bull murmured, drawing back. “Any of us could carry you.”

 

“When I can no longer walk, you may carry me.” she replied, stopping as she reached to top of the incline. She was both shocked and reluctantly accepting of the soldiers who gawked and knelt along the way.

 

Past soldiers and mages alike and through Haven, she walked. Slow and stilted at first, but then smoother, gaining momentum as she began to negotiate through the pain. She stumbled after crossing the threshold, and Cullen rushed to catch her….and the pain of impact caused her to promptly blackout. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are a lot of references in this chapter. Amy recites the Litany against Fear from Dune and the description of L-sama (by L-sama) from Slayers multiple times in this. There are also quotes from Julius Caesar, Young Justice, The Dark Tower, Thich Nhat Hanh, the Grey Jedi code, and Bilbo’s Poem to describe Aragorn. The songs Amy sang are from Moana and Bette Midler’s Wind Beneath My Wings.


	28. Finally Plugged In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amy says 'Katoh', but it's fine. Siheta helps her work through some things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys enjoy this one :)

Amy breathed. Slow and deep as she stared down at the peer post. It was so hard to believe so much had happened so quickly. In the dawning light, it seemed so harmless.

 

Heavy footfalls drew her attention to her far right. A very familiar silhouette was emerging from the mist there. When the Iron Bull’s eye landed on her...her stomach sunk.

 

“Bull?” her voice was reedy and rusted. Reasonably so after… whatever had happened yesterday. She took a single step back.

 

The Iron Bull began to jog towards her.

 

No… not jog. Charge.

 

“Katoh.” she said, her voice soft, his approaching charge steamrolled over it. “Katoh, Hissrad.” a plea.

 

She couldn't imagine a reply from the Qun would come so quickly. There was no way they’d already decided to eliminate her…

 

She turned to survey her surroundings better… only to freeze.

 

It was dawn. Still. No one was out here. It wasn't as if everyone in Haven needed to be milling about every day at dawn, but no one?

 

When she looked back to Bull, the space between them was farther than it had been before.

 

He was still running. She had not moved from her spot by the docks. Yet he was farther away. And the sun was still just cresting the horizon.

 

Still.

 

Everything was… Still.

 

She turned to face him fully, planting her feet and squaring her shoulders.

 

“I. Said. Stop.” Her voice was loud, echoing through the valley though she hadn’t raised her voice. His pace slowed, more of a purposeful saunter now, and within scant seconds he stopped three paces from her.

 

It didn’t make any sense! ...it was like…

 

Her eyes doubled in size.

 

“Holy frothing frogs, I’m in the Fade.” she said.

 

The Iron Bull that was most certainly _not_ The Iron Bull smiled at her. It was… unsettling. A familiar expression in a familiar face that somehow... was anything except familiar.

 

“What are you?” She demanded.

 

“Long have I circled around you, always from my side of the veil.” The Bull’s voice, but in Fade-Acoustics, so it sounded distant-echoey-and-yet-near. “From others around you, I see you. But never you… like learning to look for an absence. And I know you.”

 

Amy tried to stamp down her fear response, but it wasn’t easy. Every time she tried a breathing exercise she’d get caught up in the fact that she didn’t need to breathe. She literally had astral projected out of her body for this genuine Theadosian experience. She didn’t have lungs!

 

But her brain thought she did.

 

...it was the weirdest ‘The Matrix has you’ situation… at least thus far.

 

“Name yourself.” She commanded. She refused to call it a demon. If spirits were or could be as malleable as Solas suggested, she needed to keep a clear head.

 

“I am Confrontation.”

 

Oh.

 

Wait.

 

...what?

 

Was she…?

 

…..okay, yes.

 

She huffed out an astral-breath. “Seriously.” She couldn’t help the solitary chuckle that plopped out. “My first trip to the fade, first spirit I see...is Confrontation.”

 

Their eye narrowed. “You do not allow excuses to stop you. You refuse to be intimidated. You act in spite of opposition. And you bring others together and force them to face what is between them.” They nodded, seemingly satisfied with their assessment.

 

“Gawhd.” Amy grunted. “I am in the Fade.”

 

“Yes and no.” The spirit said. “This is more… hm.” They tilted their head. “It is difficult to explain.”

 

“It’s like a pocket dimension.” Siheta’s voice startled Amy, making her nearly jump away from the dock.

 

Siheta squatted, perched atop the dock in an easy crouch, as though she’d always been there. Her entrance felt a lot like she’d somehow figured out how to be Batman in spite of all this brightness.

 

“How?” Amy asked as the Kossith hopped down.

 

“You’re technically still not quite in the Fade.”

 

Amy’s eyes boggled.

 

“So...So, I’m dreaming and there’s a spirit,” so motioned to the Iron Confrontation. “And a dreamer is here,” and she motioned to Siheta. “And _yet_ , I’m still not in the Fade?” Siheta smiled at her indignation.

 

“You’re dreaming the way you normally did before your crossing. You didn’t need the Fade there, did you?”

 

Amy sighed, drooping. Of course Siheta was right. She knew she was right.

 

“No.” she droned.

 

“Well, whatever happened in your crossing that sealed up your magic...it’s…” she shook her head. “It's safe to say that Sam’s mark broke through it. So now your magic is ...loose. It touches the veil in a way that we don’t.”

 

“Reaching out to you was not easy.” Confrontation added. “Even for those who have no magic, I can easily visit them. This required… effort.”

 

Amy looked between them, worry puckering her brow. “You’re...you’re not trapped here?”

 

“No.” Siheta assured. “Surprised at this turn of events, and smug that Solas hasn’t found his way here. But not trapped.”

 

“I am not trapped either.” Confrontation assured. “Only this contact required effort.”

 

Amy nodded, relief filtering through her. “Do you think Solas will show up here?”

 

“As soon as he figures out how, I imagine so.” Siheta grinned. “I’ve learned how to listen for you. And we’ve all been rather preoccupied since you fainted.”

 

“I fainted?” Amy demanded, appalled.

 

“Right into Commander Cullen’s burly arms.” Siheta whispered, as though it were some secret to cherish always, her hands coming up to rest against her heart.

 

“Let’s just keep that between ourselves, shall we?” Amy grumbled, face flattening at Siheta's antics.

 

The woman's eyes widened expressively. “I’d love to, but Varric was nearby so…”

 

“Fantastic.” Amy spat, the word sour in her mouth.

 

Siheta smirked. “Had Cullen and Sam tripping all over themselves.” She muttered, shaking her head. “It was a sight.”

 

“They enjoy controlling the dance.” Confrontation grumbled. “Being coy, fainting right and left to avoid what they imagine to be unpleasant.” They grinned at her. “Even incapacitated, you deny them that.”

 

“Alright.” Amy murmured, having enough of whatever _that_ was.

 

“You could probably change this you know.” Siheta said, gesturing to their surroundings. Confrontation glared from the corner of their eye. Probably recognizing the diversionary tactic, and not appreciating it.

 

“I uh… I’ll just learn to crawl before I run.”

 

“Amy it’s you. Your head, your power, your dream.” Siheta soothed, her purple eyes kind and filled with delight. “I know, technically you aren’t a dreamer, but very few non-mages have the ability to control their dreams.”

 

“I know I could try it, but I’d just...rather not.”Amy said, sighing down at the ice. “At this point… I’m liable to make it look like home, and that’ll only make me more heartsick.” Siheta nodded her understanding.

 

“Because of your mother.” Confrontation blurted out.

 

Amy crossed her arms. “Yes. I miss my mother.” her voice a challenge.

 

“You aren’t upset because you miss her. You’re upset because you feel guilty and cheated, because you never told her that she is the measure by which you judge all women. Including yourself.”

 

Amy’s expression darkened. “I will punch you in your not real face if you don’t back off.” she said plainly.

 

Confrontation relaxed back onto their back foot. “Even when you wish to retreat, it isn’t without demanding it.” The admiration in that statement did not go unnoticed... Only, Amy wondered if that was necessarily the best thing to focus on. Was she unbearably relentless?

 

“I suppose you aren’t wrong.” Siheta decided with a smirk, and Amy could only pretend to glare for so long before just letting it go. “Would you like a change of topic?”

 

“Please?”

 

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

 

Amy took in a breath, letting it out slow as she tried to remember. “The doors of the chantry.”

 

“That tracks…” Siheta murmured. “But is this.. I mean…” She squinted, trying to figure out how to articulate her question. “This is your first dream?”

 

“Uh. Yeah.”

 

Siheta’s eyebrows rose. “I went to sleep a couple of hours ago, and you fainted not long after lunch.”

 

Amy’s brow puckered, not sure what that meant.

 

“Navigating the Dreaming isn’t easy…” Siheta shrugged as though she were trying to dismiss whatever she’d started. "You'll learn. I have faith."

 

“How…” Amy stopped herself, unsure of how to phrase any question as so many were demanding answers. “Ok.” She wet her lips. “How can we make it easier for Solas to get here?”

 

Siheta pursed her lips. “It makes sense that if the Dreaming and parts of it can enter your sphere… parts of your sphere could enter the Dreaming.”

 

“Uhhh…”

 

“I’m just thinking out loud here.” Siheta assured. “For me to get here, it was a combination of listening and feeling. Traversing here isn’t difficult when one can open portals… But could you open your own portals?” she squinted. “I don’t know. Theoretically, the answer should be yes...”

 

“The Fade strikes me as the sort of place one shouldn’t stumble about in.” Amy murmured.

 

“Such things haven’t stopped you before.”Confrontation reminded. Siheta sucked a breath between her teeth.

 

“You know the more I know you, the less I enjoy you.”Amy grumbled. Confrontation’s only response was one of those ‘I-call-it-as-I-see-it’ shrugs.

 

Siheta was still smirking at this interplay, but it wasn’t an unkind sort of smirk. Amy cleared her throat in hopes of clearing the air.

 

“Are you certain you want to try getting Solas here? Siheta asked.

 

Amy took a breath. “You really dislike him.” The statement was an observation, of course, but it was also a call for validation.

 

“I dislike how I feel about him.” Siheta refuted. Amy’s eyes sharpened. She wasn’t necessarily surprised to hear Siheta speak openly about feelings. She wasn’t typically the sort to cage herself, after all. “What?”

 

“Just...that turn of phrase. It’s peculiar to me.”

 

Siheta nodded. “Solas is intelligent and intuitive. He’s also much older than he seems, and that comes with a vast deal of knowledge. I respect him even when I resent him, and I don’t like that.” she shrugged. “He’s also...well, dangerous obviously. Anyone that powerful who can remain undetected is... But, there’s something shifty about him. In this world of ours, I understand wanting to remain as unremarkable as possible...but it goes beyond that with him. That makes me most uneasy. You don't do that unless you legitimately have a reason to hide.” Amy nodded that she understood, and Siheta seemed to relax. As though she’d been waiting to defend herself. “I’m not the only one who thinks it even if others don’t articulate it.”

 

“Magpie?”

 

“Magpie.” Siheta confirmed. “And Varic. And Bull to some extent.”

 

“Ben Hass-hole.”

 

“Quite.” Siheta surveyed their surroundings. “But even they’re beginning to relax around him.”

 

“Hm.” Amy murmured. “Without revealing too much… I don't think it’s a bad idea to be mindful of Solas. At the same time.. I’d much rather keep him close. Even at the expense of my own feelings. Because…” she shook her head. “He isn’t an automaton. He has valid thoughts and feelings. And if he's close to us, and we form strong bonds and feelings with him, there’s a chance he’ll form bonds and feelings for us as well.” she shrugged, mouth scrunching to the side. “Doesn’t mean a break won't hurt, but he’ll have all that to inform him as he moves away from us.”

 

Siheta’s expression was flat, grim. “Risky.” she announced before heaving a lonesome breath. “But worthy.” she finally determined with a nod.

 

“So…”

 

“Right.” Siheta took a fortifying breath. “How to invite the old sage in.” she eyed their surroundings till her eyes landed on Confrontation. The spirit had gone quiet during their discourse.

 

...and Amy wondered for a second how much of their presence was influencing all of this abject honesty.

 

“How is this affecting you?” Siheta asked, and Amy blinked, her eyes darting between Siheta and Confrontation… it was only then Amy realized that Siheta was addressing the spirit..and Amy suddenly grew concerned.

 

“Well enough.” Confrontation pronounced, nodding towards Amy. “This one is very concerned with keeping to herself… odd, as this space _is_ herself.” They blinked, looking up and then around. “Honestly… I expected some friction.”

 

Siheta nodded, her gauging gaze assessing Amy anew. “Commendable.”

 

“Oi.” Amy grunted. “I’m right here.”

 

Siheta chuckled, taking a long moment to corral her thoughts. “So… just so we’re all on the same page now. People in Thedas live in a physical world that is next to and within a realm of Dreaming that they call the Fade. It's seperated from them only by a very flimsy barrier they call the Veil. Mages have a stronger connection to that Dreaming and use its energy to manifest effects in the physical world. To be clear, everyone lives with the Dreaming overlapping them.”

 

“Mages are just aware of it and connected to it.”

 

“Right.” Siheta confirmed. “When you arrived here, you didn’t connect and the Dreaming didn’t touch you.”

 

“So… I was like a vacuum?”

 

Siheta nodded. “A void, yes. But as time passed, I realized it wasn’t so. The Dreaming adjusted itself around you, seeping in where it could… the physical realm, of course. The rest of you, your soul, it was encased in a shell, like an egg. But I could focus on you and feel you in a similar fashion to others.” She took a deep breath. “It took pointed focus to skim that eggshell of yours, but it was possible.”

 

“Like a needle on an old-fashioned record player.”Amy mumbled to herself.

 

“If it helps the explanation, why not?” Siheta said with a shrug. “I observed many things about your unique condition, and the more often I pressed in on that shell…”

 

“The better you got at understanding?”

 

Siheta winced, suddenly contrite. “Yes...but that wasn’t without consequence. You began to sing more and more, and it became clearer that your magic manifested through your song. And as you used your gifts, they became stronger. Whether that was from, natural practice or my interference… I don’t know.”

 

Amy hesitated, uncertain. “...Your..?” How did Siheta ‘interfere’ exactly?

 

“You mentioned a needle...well, my attempts to connect through your barrier isn’t unlike pressing a glass against a door… or… a needle through the wood to peek inside. And once there were cracks, parts of your magic cloud leak out...and parts of the Dreaming could leak in.” Amy stared at her, both shocked and something…a feeling she couldn’t quite name. There was fear, and she felt small and yet amazed at the same time. It was like… seeing a storm coming, and worrying that your house might not stand against it. “There’s no way to test if that process weakened the barrier, because it’s gone now.”

 

Amy swallowed thickly. “...the explosion?”

 

Siheta nodded. “The shell is gone. Now, it’s more of a...thin gooey barrier…”

 

“Semipermeable membrane.”

 

Siheta’s eyebrows nose and she nodded slow. “Semi-Permeable… a good name for it. Things don’t just float out or drift in, but it’s much easier.” Siheta smirked. “Like your own personal veil.” She sighed, softly. “That being said, you still aren't like other mages. That will make this instruction challenging. Not impossible… just difficult.”

 

Amy nodded, the shock so thick she couldn’t feel crestfallen.

 

“It will be difficult to invite Solas here, because it’s something that can be done, but it’s advanced. Also... I know how I would do it, but I don't entirely know what would work for you.” Siheta explained. “Instead, I think I should instruct you in the basics first. It will provide you with a better foundation to build on, and you would be safer.

 

Amy nodded. It felt like a bit of a let-down, but it made sense.

 

“Besides, once Solas is here, I doubt he’ll be interested in the basics.”

 

Amy smirked. “You think he’d disregard that?”

 

Siheta shrugged. “Solas can get rather caught up in forgetting that everyone isn’t like him, and that such things are normal. He’s like a qunari that way, confused how a woman can fight or a mage could be in command.” she sighed. “A fish _can_ teach a bird to swim, so long as it remembers that they’re different animals and maintains respect for that simple fact.”

 

Amy chuckled softly. “The simple often confounds the wise.” She relented, relaxing as she resigned herself to Siheta’s basic instruction. “All right. Teach me.” she said, newly determined.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentine's Day :)


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